


Missing Pieces

by Lacertae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood Magic, Bonding, Cultist Tekhartha Zenyatta, Fae Magic, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Human Sacrifice, Ifrit Tekhartha Zenyatta, M/M, Magic, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Minor Character(s), Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Nomad Genji Shimada, Null Sector, Omnics, Quests, Shapeshifting, Slow Burn, That One Hot Omnic From Storm Rising, Various Zenyatta skins, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Witch Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, fairy rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-07 23:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 70,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21465931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: *Genji/Zenyatta* AU. A Nomad without memories on a quest to find himself meets, under surprising circumstances, a monk.Even more surprising, the two have a common adversary to find...Written for the Genyatta BigBang 2019
Relationships: Genji Shimada/Tekhartha Zenyatta
Comments: 17
Kudos: 82
Collections: Genyatta Big Bang 2019





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello :) I undertook this bigbang challenge like the verbose fucker I am, which means I'm going to post a chapter a day for around two weeks, for a grand total of around 69k!
> 
> (im posting two chapters today because the prologue is super short)
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> (actually the ending wordcount not edited was 69420 (ayy) and it was absolutely NOT on purpose but i had a long laugh)
> 
> The Art for this fic=
> 
> [art by Nichiriin](https://nichiriin.tumblr.com/post/189130017768/genji-zenyatta-repeated-sweetly-and-genji)
> 
> [art by Idontlikesalmon](https://idontlikesalmon.tumblr.com/post/189130546944/my-piece-for-the-genyatta-big-bang-i-drew-this)
> 
> [art by tawari](https://twitter.com/tawarithe/status/1196178443756613638)
> 
> Beware that there are light spoilers for the fic!

** **

**Prologue**

The village had been built in the middle of a luscious area, surrounded by green pastures and fields.

It was beautiful, albeit small, and the view was pleasant in any season, now more than ever as it was close to harvest time, and the crops planted on both sides of the road looked like golden silk swaying gently in the wind.

Three horses trotted down the gentle slope, headed towards the village, its red and brown rooftops offering a welcoming sight; one of the riders was an omnic, and his attire different from his two human companions, attracting attention on him due to his sturdy, foreign clothes –a small jacket, pants and a turban wrapped around his head, with an orange feather plucked on its front. His faceplate and chassis were a grey so dark it seemed almost black and both his optical receptors and his single forehead array LED were of a dark red-orange colour.

As the horses continued on their way, the omnic’s attention focused from his companions to the village they were approaching, and his stance shifted slightly, back straightening as he looked at it.

“We are almost there, are we not?” he asked, his gentle tone at the same time curious and pleased –he did not quite like travelling on horseback, and if not for the hurry of the men riding with him, he would have preferred walking instead.

Unfortunately, he’d been told the situation required haste, so he had obliged.

“Yes, that is our village. We are very thankful you accepted to come and aid us,” the man at his side said, voice almost obsequious.

“It is of no problem –I will gladly offer help where it’s needed.”

The man made a sound, either to agree or simply to show he was listening. “We are a small village, but there are… powerful artefacts here that we need to keep safe, and there have been so many attacks, as of late. We have been worried, but no magic user has answered our pleas until now.”

“It is unfortunate, but at least you’ve found someone now. I will be able to cleanse the area around the temple first, and it will spread from there to the edge of the village in a few hours unless there’s interference.”

“That is a relief. I was getting worried that the barrier would be eroded before we could find someone… Monar finding you was truly a blessing.”

“The Iris operates in subtle ways,” the omnic replied, amused, and tilted his head to look at the third party member, the tall man who answered to the name Monar, stress lines on his face and a scarf wrapped around his head, keeping his face protected from the sun. “It was truly fortuitous I was just a few days away from here.”

“We will not keep you longer than the time needed to complete the cleansing,” the man continued, unaware of the omnic’s gaze shifting away from him. “Unless you wish to rest afterwards –then we will gladly offer you a room, and… well, if there is anything else you need, we will provide it. The village is small, but we do not lack anything.” There was pride in his words, and as the omnic looked around, gaze resting on the beautiful crops and the happy village they were approaching, he could see the truth of that statement. Small as it was, the village had been blessed by good fortune.

Nested as it was in such a quiet valley, it benefited from the mountains both for protection and for rain, and the crops seemed to grow plentiful around him in the fields. The village itself looked well-kept and pleasant.

Yet…

The omnic allowed the conversation to fall into a lull, now deep in thought.

There was an unfamiliar feeling coiling in his core, which clashed against the peace of his surroundings and the jolly company, and though he tried to dispel it, it just would not leave.

He had been accosted a few days earlier by the man called Monar, who had appeared to know not of who Zenyatta was –what order he belonged to– in search of a magic user that could aid the village and its mayor, the person who had sent him around to ask.

It had been a rather peculiar timing, as Zenyatta had finished his previous business in the area and had planned to leave soon, feeling inside him the need to move, the Iris gently leading him where he needed to go…

Instead, he had followed Monar to his superior, the mayor of this tiny, prosperous village.

Since then, growing within him like ivy, the feeling of wariness had only increased.

The Iris willing it, he would not have to face any hardship in his desire to help the village’s head with his problem, and whatever bad feeling was upsetting him would be easily dealt with.

Hopefully.

Above him, in the distance and barely visible from the mountaintops, dark stormy clouds were slowly gathering together.


	2. Chapter 01

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here you have it, also chapter one!

**Chapter 01**

Hidden behind heavy, dark clouds, barely allowed to peek through, the sun was slowly disappearing behind the mountains.

The weather had been bleak for the past week, with frequent bouts of rain barely allowing the ground to get dry, and as the week had progressed the clouds had grown darker with the promise of a heavy storm.

A lone figure advanced across the barren plains, fabric draped around his head to protect his face from water and cold. His pace was even but strained, body tired after miles spent walking through inclement weather, and with him he only had a bag and a beautifully carved sheathe, though there was no sword inside –the only weapons he carried were a pair of knives tied to his hips, hidden under his cloak.

For hours his surroundings had remained unchanged –desolation as far as the eye could see, empty and sad, damp soil that drenched the road he walked on, causing his shoes to make wet, unpleasant sounds with every step, but as he reached the top of a small hill his eyes finally caught sign of something just ahead of him, neatly nested inside a small valley.

A village.

It did not look big –at most, it contained a few hundred souls, give or take– but it was still a change, and the first sign of life he’d seen since he’d left the last town, over a week before.

Energized at the first sign of life and the idea of a warm meal and a dry roof, the figure hastened his pace, walking down the slope and towards the village.

Yet, the closer he got the more he felt something was not quite right, though with the drizzle turning into downpour, forcing him to tug the fabric around his head closer to his face, he had little choice but to keep going. He had faced worst than a little rain, but there was no shelter anywhere in sight, so he would gladly take this chance to rest somewhere dry.

As tired as he was, he knew this would only be a short break before he moved on again –after all, he was a man on a hunt.

He’d had a name, once, and a purpose, a past… not anymore, though. He could remember none of it, the hole in his memories encompassing his entire self, leaving behind only a thick mist.

Waking up alone, wounded and breathless at the edge of a lake in the middle of nowhere, was his first memory. The shock and pain had assaulted his mind, and even more horrifying had been the later discovery that he had no shadow, the sun leaving no trace of his presence despite shining brightly down on him. Since then, he’d travelled far, seeking a way to find himself again, but no mage nor witch had been able to help him on his quest.

For a year and a day he had lived without a name, only known as Nomad, no roots or ties to keep him still.

It was why he was travelling, it was why he could never stop too long in the same place, seeking to find one who could help him retrieve those lost memories.

It was why even this village would be only a short stop, and then he would be gone again, like the wind.

Deep in thought, Nomad continued down the road, and it was only when the wind threatened to push the fabric off his head that he stopped for a moment, blinking, and truly _looked_ at the village, now so close he would reach the first few houses in a few more minutes.

The darkness was approaching, made worse by the rain, but there were no lights on. Not from the windows, nor from the streets.

Despite the weather, one of the closest buildings had a window opened wide, and it swayed in the wind, letting rain inside. Nomad squinted, but he could see nothing inside.

He hesitated for a second longer, wariness curling around his mind, then he jolted when lightning struck above him, followed by a thunder –too soon, too close. He advanced again, eyes scanning the road and the houses as he walked past the first few buildings. Were all houses empty, he could always seek an inn, or a temple, a monastery, or church.

As he walked, though, Nomad’s eyes continued to dart from building to building, searching –windows open, a front door broken, a gate left parted despite the small warning sign ‘beware of dogs’ attached to it…

And there was no trace of life, no matter where he looked.

Was the village abandoned?

The downpour was gradually increasing in strength, and Nomad was left with a decision to make –find a place in this village for the night, risking it, or leave, wary of the silence and the emptiness of it.

In the end, after yet another thunder rumbled above him, Nomad continued down the main road, following the signs until they led him to a plaza in the middle of the village, and to a tall brick wall –inside, not the inn he’d been looking for, but a small, anonymous temple and its adjoined building.

It did not look like much –red roof, circular windows of coloured glass– but it was the only place that he knew would provide him with a roof and a decent amount of protection, in case the village happened to be full of unseen dangers.

Just like the rest of the town, it appeared to be empty and even to his eyes looked unwelcome, but temples of any kind and deity did not forbid anyone from entering for shelter, not even a man without a shadow, and…

As he walked closer to the wall surrounding the temple, he could feel the familiar vibration of a protective magic lingering in the stones. It might be abandoned, but it would protect him.

He passed through the wall, and he felt a trickle of magic wash over him, searching, before fading from his senses. There was a little garden surrounding the temple, and as he walked he kept his senses open, still expecting something –anything– to happen… but nothing did.

Rain washed over him, and he felt nothing else.

Nomad swallowed thickly and reached for the heavy wooden doors, slamming the knocker twice then waiting. The sound echoed weirdly in the silence but it was not answered, not even when Nomad knocked again, louder this time, eyes gazing at the ram head of the door knocker as he waited.

It was clear that just like the rest of the village, the temple was deserted, and the knot of anxiety that had been growing since he approached the first houses lodged in his throat, heavy and unpleasant.

The whole village was abandoned –and was that not enough for him to leave, rather than linger? Nomad stretched his senses further, listening, but nothing answered his silent pleas.

With a sudden exhale, Nomad pushed the door and it opened with a loud creak, revealing to him an empty antechamber, two doors, a corridor leading to the side and a staircase to the upper floor.

“Is anyone in there?” voice a little throaty from disuse, Nomad took a hesitant step inside.

The air of the room was dusty, stuffy, but clean and dry. He exhaled again, and his shoulders relaxed a little.

Now that he was out of the rain, Nomad rummaged through the bag he was carrying, and extracted a small, white candle from its depths. With a nail he carved a rune on its side, then a second and a third, and finally lit the candle, balancing it on his palm.

The small flame wavered for a moment before it fizzled and sputtered, a line of smoke raising in the air and swirling. Nomad’s eyes observed it with caution, but there was no reaction –the smoke faded from view, and the candle continued to burn, unimpeded.

“Hmmm.”

With a quick movement of his other hand, Nomad snuffed the candle’s flame between two fingers, and as he did so, the seals carved in its sides vanished.

If the spell had worked correctly –and it was not the first time he’d used it– then there was no trace of a heartbeat in the entire building. He could have tried for a bigger area, but he did not want to use the rest of the candle, not when he might have need for it down the lane. Still –he was alone, no dangers, and it meant he could…

Relax.

With a sigh, Nomad put away his candle. He needed to dry his clothes and eat.

***

Outside the windows, thankfully unbroken, the storm had finally reached its peak. Rain washed on the glass in bursts and showers, and through the tiny cracks in the windowpane Nomad could hear the wind howling.

Inside, dry and safe, he’d found a kitchen and many small bedrooms, though he only explored one floor. He’d shoved some blankets and mattresses into one neat pile on the floor, making sure to wipe some of the dust away, and had created a nest for himself in the middle.

Despite the disarray, most of the food had been preserved thanks to magic –spells laced the packages with the dry meat, the cheese, the bottles of milk and water and even a few cans of coffee, and much to his amusement, he’d managed to find unspoiled mini cakes as well, no bigger than his palm, each one wrapped in its own neat spell.

Munching on a slice of cheese that left his fingers oily, Nomad continued his exploration of the building, seeking understanding for the lack of people. If some tragedy had struck, it would have left some kind of trace behind –or leftovers, or_anything_.

The idea that he was completely alone did not bother him, even with the storm going strong outside, for he had the means to protect himself and was silent when the need arose, but boredom could still be a problem, and his curiosity demanded compensation.

First, he moved upstairs –there were more bedrooms there, and what appeared to be a library, or a study. He flicked through some of the books but they were religious tomes or about agriculture, or fiction, and his attention wandered from them quickly to stare at the large windows as the rain washed over the big glass panels.

The bedrooms were mostly empty, just like the ones on the lower floor, except three at the end of the corridor, where the building met with the temple.

The first one looked like it had been in use, with clothes abandoned on a chair and an open book on the unmade bed, which happened to be a book on magical law. There were no personal objects around, nothing to tell him who had used this room, so he moved to the next –and the moment he stepped into it, his instincts made him tense. There was nothing in there to signal the room had been used, except the unmade bed, and the window was open, letting in the cold and the rain. Yet, something was wrong with it, enough that Nomad quickly stepped back out, and did not relax until he’d closed the door and moved on.

Nomad had no idea why he’d felt so chilled, but he had long since learned to trust his instincts.

The third room proved to be a little more interesting –and more personal.

Whoever had used it either had made the bed, or had no time to use one, because the sheets were pristine, but had used the small table in a corner, for there were papers scattered all over it and a pen resting on one of them. There was a bag near the table on the floor, and Nomad moved to inspect that before his eyes fell on the paper, and he frowned.

It was a personal letter –addressed to someone named Mondatta, it seemed. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he could not pinpoint why. The letter was short, as the person who’d been writing it had paused halfway through, but it finally shed some light on what had happened to the town.

‘_Dear Mondatta_’, it said, ‘_forgive me for not sending a letter earlier, but I have been busy. I’d been on my way to the nearest port in order to travel further South, but I was intercepted by a man who was in need of my help. There was something weird about him –like his soul was shrouded to my senses– but his words rang true, and I have never been able to say no when I am asked. I am now in a small village in a valley east to the capital for a cleansing, as there are precious artefacts it protects that need to be guarded, and recently it has been attacked. I will perform the ritual in a few hours, and instead of preparing I find myself in need to write to you, how peculiar. It is possibly because I miss you, brother, and something in the disposition of the town’s head that reminded me of you. I might have to travel back sooner than I thought, if the monastery is ready for my unexpected return. Yet… my core is clouded with worry that I cannot dispel. I hope that–_’

The letter ended there, a small dribble of ink long since dried at the end of the last word.

So –someone had been contacted to perform a cleansing.

Nomad had felt the grounds, tested them, and the cleansing had clearly worked, and yet… the town was empty and abandoned. Something had been stronger than the cleansing, or it had been stalled somehow but…

A cleansing would not take long. What could have caused the entire village to leave without looking back in so little time? It was not possible.

There was something else going on, and it only made Nomad feel even more curious.

Finished with the upper floor, and disinclined to visit the attic, considering the state of the wooden ladder, he moved back to the ground floor, which he’d only summarily checked earlier for blankets and food.

It took him little time to find a door he could not enter –there were planks nailed into the door, and as he brushed his fingers against them, wiping dust away, he recognised a trail of runes that had since lost their power.

Maybe he’d found his answer.

Using the small knives he carried on himself, Nomad made quick work of the planks and pushed the door open, straining his ears. It revealed a staircase, but with no light he could not see past the first few steps.

Pressing the switch at his right, he watched as a series of lightbulbs flickered on, magically powered. He had noticed that the sink in the bathroom still worked, and so did most of the lights inside the building, and he had to respect who had spelled the area, as it looked like it had been months, if not longer, since the place had seen a living soul.

Licking his lips with the last bite of cheese, Nomad did not allow himself to think and simply descended the staircase. It was not a dark, looming basement with water dripping from unseen pipes and shadows dancing just out of sight –it was clean, if a bit dusty.

The magical circle surrounding the only door at the end of the staircase, though… that _was_ unexpected.

Nomad paused, feet inches from touching the circle, and knelt down to run his fingers on the faded paint.

It was… it had been red, probably, but had long since faded into a dark brown. He did not know the symbols painted in three neat rows around the circle, but it did not take a genius to understand that this was made to seal something.

Whoever it was, they’d probably died already, unless the seals were made to prevent it –or if it had been done to something inhuman.

Nomad lifted his eyes to the door. the lights from the staircase barely reached this part of the basement, but there were more symbols carved right on the door, and–

He recognized one of them.

Blood turning into ice, Nomad stepped over the circle, uncaring about safety, and stood inches from the door, eyes wide as they traced the contours of the faded symbol.

It was–

Not a magical cypher –this was a _signature_, and one he knew rather well.

He’d seen the same symbol when he’d woken up, alone and bleeding with no memory nor recollection of who he was, carved into the ground underneath his body, drenched in his own blood.

If everything else had been a blur, that signature had been etched into his memory since the start, the only connection he had with his past.

He’d memorized it, from the two longer lines resembling a ram’s horns meeting in the middle to the three dots underneath, forming a triangle, and the first thing he had done, after panicking and nursing his wound, had been to carve it into the tender, raw skin of his left wrist, mixing blood and ink from his pens so the tattoo would not disappear like the rest of his memories.

With trembling fingers, Nomad reached out towards the door, almost scared by the intensity of his need to touch the sign, if only to reassure himself he was not dreaming–

Flinching, he retracted his hand.

He could feel _something_ humming from behind the door –power unlike anything he’d felt before, tingling on his skin, and it felt… almost familiar, in a way. It buzzed in the air, now that he was close enough to the door, and he belatedly realised that by standing on the circle painted on the ground, Nomad had connected with the spell, tuning with it.

If he touched the door… would it do anything?

Hand clenched into a fist, Nomad looked away, heart thundering in his chest, and it was that movement that led his eyes to a corner of the narrow room.

There were rolls of paper abandoned there, dusty and covered in webs.

Careful not to touch the door or the walls, in case the spell had drenched the entire area, Nomad moved to the pile of papers and picked them up with thumb and index, eyes narrowing as he realised they were detailed descriptions of the ritual used on the door, carelessly abandoned there when they’d not been needed anymore.

He knew little about magic circles, and even less about the symbols needed on them, but that little was enough –as he thumbed through the papers, eyes scanning the pages and flicking up to look at the faded circle surrounding the door, he could tell that the schemes he had in his hands were not… accurate.

There was a repeated symbol every three, and that one had been substituted every single time with another one.

He had no idea what that meant, but it seemed rather important, and as he continued to leaf through the papers, he finally understood why.

On the last paper, scribbled in ink that appeared to be newer than the rest of the papers, was the added extra cypher, and the handwriting was different –it was obviously something that had been added later on. In a scribbled, chicken scrawl, someone had written ‘of good omen’ next to it.

Nomad paused his reading, contemplating the symbols in front of him, and then the papers.

This was a sealing circle, that much was clear –but the replaced cypher meant something, something he was not sure about.

For a moment, he hesitated, the impulse to move and unravel the sealing circle almost taking over him, something curling inside his chest, demanding him to act–

Then he stepped back, shaking his head to clear it.

Whoever had made this circle had meant to trap whatever was on the other side, and maybe he should respect it –what if it had caused the abandonment of the village around him? What if there was a monster there, ready to attack at the first chance? And yet… the symbol, the signature on the door, in the same ink as the magic circle, the one that had sparkled recognition within him, compelled him to try nonetheless, and the compulsion he felt was nothing like any magic he’d felt in the past.

The sealing would prevent external magics to interfere with the circle, so the fact that he felt such a strong desire to break the magic on the door meant it was something else. Something different.

Nomad’s eyes narrowed and he took another, deliberate step back.

He had to clear his head, and without looking back he left the basement, returning upstairs, leaving behind the stuffy, cold room and the circle he’d found there.

Yet, the knot in his chest did not ease. Now that he’d seen the sealed door, Nomad’s curiosity had been piqued, and it didn’t matter whether it could be dangerous to break the seal or not –he still felt like he had to.

If it was a bad decision, he would deal with it.

Mind set, he felt the knot lessen with every step he took, descending the staircase again to face the sealed door, and in the blink of an eye he was standing in front of it again, hesitating only a second more before pressing his palm against the door.

There was power there that he could feel now, humming right under his skin, from the wooden door and the walls surrounding it to the floor.

Kneeling on the floor, Nomad grabbed one of his knives, smoothly taking it out of his sleeve and slicing one of the symbols on the floor; the metal warmed, reacting to the magic, and under Nomad’s eyes the crusty ink seemed to become fresher, almost as if it had just been painted on the ground. With a flare of anticipation, Nomad brushed the handle of the knife through the ink, smudging it.

The reaction was instantaneous, and almost underwhelming, even if he was expecting it –the magic circle seemed to tremble from within, and the ink started to turn grey from the edges closer to the knife, spreading until the entire set had faded away, a small flicker of blue energy licking the air as the sealing magic faded into nothing.

Almost too easy –yet Nomad knew it had been anything but easy. He simply had the right means.

Strange, how if it had been any other person, maybe they would not have stayed, or thought about undoing the sealing. Strange, how he had the right tool to speed the process.

If he had not come to the village, if he hadn’t needed a place to stay, if not for the rain… he would not have seen this.

Was it truly a coincidence that brought him there? Or was it–

“–me out! Please–”

From the other side of the door, someone banged into the wood, their voice carrying over now that the power had faded, and Nomad’s head snapped up, only for the voice to fade abruptly into silence.

“The magic… what…?” softer this time, curious. “Who… who is it out there?”

Nomad swallowed, anticipation suddenly fading into wary cautiousness. “I will open the door now. Stand back and do not come close.” Curt, sharp –no-nonsense.

No answer from the other side, but when Nomad pushed the door open, the figure had retreated as he had asked.

The room was –it was not even a room, it was little more than a broom closet, large enough for a person to walk in, with barely enough space left for them to turn around but deep enough to allow storage space. No lights, no windows, nothing –just darkness.

He heard the sound of optical receptors adapting to the light from the basement, and he squinted, able to make out the outline of someone standing there, shoulders slumped, though he felt a twinge of alarm as he saw, in the darkness of the small closet, three eyes glowing red.

“The magic that was keeping me caged has vanished.” The figure’s voice sounded more muted now, a little calmer, inquisitive. “Was that your doing?”

“Yes.” Nomad hesitated, careful. He felt offset now that there was someone else there, the security of being alone unbalanced in the face of company, and more than that, unnerved by those three eyes. “Do you want to come out?”

“Please.”

He took a few steps back, giving the creature some space, aware that if it had been him, sealed in such tiny space, he would feel trapped –the calm they were showing him was impressive.

As the figure stepped out of the small closet and the light from the staircase shone on them, Nomad found himself staring, eyes wide in surprise.

It was an omnic –not a human as he’d expected, or an unearthly creature. What he’d mistaken for a third eye was the omnic’s forehead array. But more than that, what surprised him was the wave of something familiar yet unknown that washed over him like warm heat, leaving his skin tingling in its wake.

Healing magic, clean and raw, and not _evil_.

Almost dizzy at the feeling, his body warming at its contact, Nomad gaped.

“You’re not a monster.”

His words seemed to startle the omnic, rippling a small, confused but nonetheless honest laughter from him.

“No, I would say I am not.” He tilted his head to the side, observing him quietly, hands joined in front of him in what appeared to be a meditative pose. “Were you expecting one?”

“No, I mean –the sealing, and… and, uh,” Nomad fumbled with the papers in his hands –he was still holding onto them from earlier– but faced with who had been sealed behind the door, he felt like another piece of puzzle had fallen into its slot. Clearing his throat, he lowered his hand and looked –truly looked– at the omnic.

His clothes appeared to be of fine make, clean and pristine, the feather on top of his hat brushing against the doorframe above him, swaying a little, and though the lights from his forehead array and optical receptors were reddish, glowing softly in the dark, he did not appear hostile now that he could look at his faceplate.

“How did an omnic end up sealed in the basement of a temple?” the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself, and Nomad felt his cheeks grow warm at the uncouth inquiry.

The omnic hesitated, shoulders dropping a little almost as if out of dejection. “I might have been tricked, I fear.” After a second of hesitation, he exhaled. “How did you find me?”

“I was curious, and I had a lot of time to waste.” He knew he was being cagey, but it still felt weird, to talk with someone after so long. “Who tricked you?”

A small shake of his head, the feather on his cap swaying harder. “The man who brought me here –I was supposed to cleanse this village, but shortly afterwards I was incapacitated and when I came to, I was in this closet, and I could feel someone outside…” his optical receptors fell onto the floor, noticing the broken seal, but Nomad latched onto his words.

“Oh! So the letter upstairs is yours!”

Startled again, the omnic returned his attention sharply to him. “You have read my letter…?”

“Ah–” feeling chided, Nomad hunched his shoulders. “I had not meant to, but with the village empty, I just–”

“… empty?” the omnic’s tone turned softer, worried, sounding destabilized as much as Nomad himself felt.

Nomad realised only a second too late what that meant –that the omnic had been sealed with the village full of people, not the abandoned wasteland he’d found– but by then, the omnic had pushed past him in his haste, soft footsteps echoing in the staircase as he rushed upwards.

“Wait–!” Nomad turned around, chasing him.

Despite his looks, the omnic was fast on his feet, so all Nomad could do was follow his trails as he ran upstairs and left the building. When Nomad stopped at the door and glanced out, it took him a moment to see him in the dark of the garden, silhouette glowing softly due to his array and LED lights.

Unbidden, Nomad felt a pulse of magic, warm and compelling, wash over him as the omnic stood under the rain, unbothered as his clothes became wet and clung to his lithe frame.

“Come back inside,” he tried, hesitant to step out of the building now that he was finally dry, but the omnic did not answer –maybe the rain had been louder than Nomad’s voice.

Rather than return to the building the omnic started walking through the overgrown garden, about to disappear from sight before Nomad, following a sudden impulse, decided to follow him.

He regretted it the moment the rainstorm washed over him, drenching him in seconds, yet he still persevered, following as the omnic walked out of the temple gates, looking around; though Nomad couldn’t read his aura or emotions, he felt the magic spike as the omnic took notice of the ivy growing over the walls, of the abandoned, open windows, no lights anywhere in sight, rain and wind howling around them.

Nomad’s eyes were a little sharper than normal eyes, but even he had trouble following the figure of the omnic in the dark, though the soft red glow emanating from his frame helped, allowing him not to lose him.

Finally the omnic stopped, right in the middle of the plaza outside of the temple’s walls, and Nomad observed him, uselessly wiping water from his face and hair.

Upset at himself for following the unknown omnic but moved by his obvious shock, Nomad hesitated only a moment before approaching him, slowing down when he was close enough that he could have touched him, if he’d wanted.

“It looks like it’s been abandoned for a long while,” he said over the rain, not sure how to offer some consolation to him. “Did you know any…” he stopped, realising the stupidity of his question, and winced when the omnic turned to look at him, forehead array and optical receptors appearing subdued in their glowing, even as the magic aura surrounding him faded, taking away the only trace of heat left in Nomad’s body.

“No,” the omnic murmured, the tone of his voice soft. “Does that matter, in the face of this village’s demise?”

“… demise?” Nomad felt a sudden chill –worse than that of the rain– at his words.

“Do you not feel it? The magic within you is strong.” At Nomad’s sharp headshake, the omnic hummed. “Someone used this village to power a spell, and sacrificed all living beings within its radius.”

The words were like a slap, and Nomad’s eyes widened as he regarded the silent, emptiness surrounding him with new understanding. Unable to speak, he swallowed, and watched as the omnic folded his hands together, tilting his head down, humming a soft prayer for the departed; even like this, drenched by rain, he looked solemn and composed, respectful. “Their souls are now one within the Iris.” Then, he seemed to notice Nomad’s soaked appearance, because he startled, forehead array burning sharply for a second. “Oh, how inconsiderate of me –you are human, are you not? Let us go back inside.”

“Wait–” Nomad paused, unsure what he’d meant to say, but the sight of the omnic, forlorn and lost and still able to offer a prayer for the souls of people he hadn’t even met, his glow the only light left around them, surrounded as they were by darkness and rain and wind, moved something within him that almost left him breathless.

As they made their way back to the building within the temple area, Nomad glanced at his companion. “What is your name?”

“… Zenyatta. I am Tekhartha Zenyatta.” His synth softened his voice. “Forgive me, my thoughts have been caught by other matters, and it seems I forgot my manners. And what is _your_ name, saviour of mine?”

There was no teasing in his tone, just honest curiosity, but the way he’d called him made Nomad feel wrongfooted again, a burst of embarrassment flooding him, and despite his previous desire to go back inside, he stopped.

“Ah… I am Nomad,” he replied. “Sorry, I cannot give you a name, for I have none.”

Zenyatta tilted his head, appearing almost curious as the light within his optical receptors flared a little brighter. “There is a story there I would not mind listening to. And how you found this village, as well.”

Nomad snorted and nodded, then pointed back towards the building, all lights open like a beacon. “It will wait until we’re back inside. Stories are best shared dry.”

“… indeed.”

As lightning flashed somewhere in the sky above them, Nomad and Zenyatta rushed back towards the open door, any awkwardness between them now forgotten.


	3. Chapter 02

**Chapter 02**

The rain did not seem like it wanted to stop.

As he looked outside, the outline of the trees bending in the wind appeared visible for a second as lightning flashed into the sky, followed by a thunder, and then disappeared once again into darkness.

With a sigh, Nomad looked away, rubbing at his wet hair with a towel he’d found in a cupboard.

He had lost his omnic companion –Zenyatta, he’d called himself– the moment they’d stepped back into the building and away from rain. Nomad had kicked off his wet shoes, debating about removing the rest of his clothes to avoid making a mess, and when he had looked up, a trail of water was all that was left of Zenyatta, leading towards the stairs.

That was to be expected –the dissonance between the before and the now for him was greater, and Nomad knew he was heading upstairs to his room to check on his belongings. Instead of following him Nomad shed his clothes with little thought, squeezing them near the entrance and watching the dribble of water fall on the dusty floor with little care before moving to the nest he’d prepared for himself, glad he had more than one change of clothes, considering the unplanned shower. 

Afterwards, Nomad had allowed his thoughts to go back to the omnic upstairs. In a way he could sympathize with Zenyatta, as their situation was… not quite similar, but enough for him to be able to understand what he was going through.

Waking up with no memories, and wounded –and if not for the kindness of a stranger who’s found him, he would have bled out on that lakeside, with no chance to find out who he had been. It was almost amusing how he had become that same sort of kind stranger for someone else now, but it felt… right, in a way.

Grabbing another bite of that greasy cheese, Nomad debated whether to allow Zenyatta some time by himself or join him upstairs. He did not want to intrude, but other than feeling responsible for him, Nomad was also interested in knowing more about who had sealed him –the signature on the door burned in his mind and on his skin, and he wanted to _know_.

A soft knock interrupted his train of thoughts and he spun around, coming face to face with Zenyatta. His clothes had not changed yet they were now completely dry, Nomad noticed with a twinge of irritation –sometimes he wished he had this kind of magic… it sure felt useful.

“I did not wish to impose without permission,” Zenyatta said, almost gently.

Blinking, Nomad went to sit on the nest he’d prepared for himself, only belatedly feeling a twinge of embarrassment now that there was someone else in the room with him to see it. “You are free to come in,” he offered, and Zenyatta hummed, stepping inside.

He almost expected him to sit on the bed, make himself comfortable –instead Zenyatta sat on the chair near the bed, uncaring of the dust on it. Like this, they were face to face and for a long moment, Zenyatta simply observed his saviour, remaining silent.

For him, no time had passed from the moment the sealing had taken effect and the moment he’d been freed by Nomad –mere seconds, that had stretched on forever. The idea that if he had not been there to help, Zenyatta would have been lost forever, caught in an instant that would never end was…

Frightening.

Upstairs, he had taken a few moments to collect himself, allowing his hands to tremble now that there was no one else to see him, afraid at the thought of the fate that had brushed past him.

Frozen in time, gone –even now, he had lost time. He had no idea how much, but enough for this village to be sacrificed. Enough for it to be abandoned, forgotten. Like Zenyatta might have been if not for Nomad.

Yet, he had no time to feel lost now, because while upstairs, he had noticed something else.

“Things are… worse than I thought.” He spoke up, attracting Nomad’s attention once again.

“Why worse?”

“My… mala are gone.” Zenyatta brought one hand to his neck, long fingers brushing the edge of his shirt. “They are my weapon, tools I use to commune with my magic and harness it. They were made for me by my brother, and without them, my abilities are greatly diminished, though… not entirely gone.” Zenyatta looked down at his hands, closing them into fists. “Yet, I find myself missing them as if they were a part of me.”

Somewhere in Nomad’s chest, he felt a little twinge of understanding at the thought of finding what little he owned suddenly gone. He knew he’d clung to his sheathe as a link to his past even if the sword it contained was long since gone. During times of danger, his body conditioned by memories he had no more, he found himself reaching for the sword that was not there, emptiness filling his heart when he ended up groping thin air.

“There was a symbol on the door,” Nomad pushed those thoughts back, focusing on the present, and with little care he pushed a sleeve up to reveal his tattooed wrist, shuffling off his nest of blankets and on the floor, kneeling in front of Zenyatta. “This symbol.”

Zenyatta tilted his head in confusion, startled by the abrupt change of subject, and then looked down. Nomad was looking at him, eyes narrowed in search of a reaction, and he did get it –Zenyatta jolted back as if slapped, and his optical receptors burned such a deep red that it almost looked black.

“You know of it.” Nomad’s voice lowered, urgent, and Zenyatta looked up into his eyes, hands still clenched into fists.

Yes. He did.

“A better question, though, is why you have it on your body?” something had changed in Zenyatta’s stance, in his voice –it had shifted into a lower tone, not quite dangerous yet but wary, shoulders squared, head inclined forwards.

Zenyatta watched Nomad’s body, reading every little gesture. He saw his eyes widen at the change, he saw a flash of worry, the grim twist of his lips, and waited.

“I woke up over a year ago, no memories nor name, standing on a magic circle with this symbol drenched in my blood,” Nomad finally answered, not looking away, daring Zenyatta to challenge the truth of his words. “Since then I have been seeking understanding, and to regain my memories. Imagine my surprise when I arrive here, and find this same symbol on a door, and _you_ behind that door.”

Zenyatta’s synth hummed softly, and Nomad realised with a jolt that they were close –inches apart, both of them looked tense, and surrounding them was Zenyatta’s magic, warm like before but no more kind nor gentle.

It fizzled on his skin, almost electrifying yet not dangerous nor malicious, washed over him and Nomad felt as if Zenyatta was looking through him, inspecting his very soul in search of…

The magic buzzed and faded, and with a sigh Zenyatta’s shoulders dropped. “I believe you. It is… peculiar.” He leaned back, away from Nomad, and he almost slumped over, body aching as his muscles relaxed. He had not even noticed how tense he’d been. “I will tell you of this symbol, if you tell me your story.”

Somehow, he had passed a test, just then.

Nomad’s lips pushed upwards in a wry smile. “We did say we’d swap tales.” He glanced at the window, the storm outside still raging. “Perfect weather for that, don’t you think?”

Zenyatta sat primly, fingers intertwined on his lap, and hummed again. When he spoke next, his voice had returned to the same inquisitive, amused tone as before, no trace of wariness anywhere. “I would hope the weather has nothing to do with your story, Nomad –unless it speaks of horrors beyond our comprehension. We are in the kind of situation that would not benefit of such themes.”

Nomad snorted before he could think better of it, and felt the last of his tension disappear from him. With a shake of his head he returned to his makeshift bed.

It took him a few seconds to consider what to say –he’d only planned to share as little details as he could for the sake of gaining the information he needed, without being too specific about his past, yet it only took one look at Zenyatta’s calm faceplate, looking almost soft, kind as he waited, and it made Nomad’s heart do a little, weird twist.

There was something… not intimate but… comforting in him, it soothed Nomad’s soul by his mere presence, and he wondered if that was the omnic’s magic, thrumming just under the calm surface of his consciousness.

But no –because he had felt seconds earlier the full brunt of the omnic’s magic when the intent was not that of soothing. Zenyatta’s was not a façade of kindness. He could be dangerous, but he _chose_ not to be.

As long as he was honest, Nomad knew he would need to fear not.

It had been so long since he’d had someone willing to listen to him so openly that once he started his story he found he could not stop –everything flew out of his mouth with little control, emotions tumbling past his lips, until he could no longer look at his companion, glancing down at his hands instead.

Maybe it was the weather –the clash between the storm outside and the stale, secluded feeling of the room they were in, sealed from the outside, safe, with no one anywhere for miles and miles– or maybe it was the fact that Zenyatta was the first soul he’d met who had wanted to know more about him, about Nomad… he had no idea.

What he knew was that the tide of emotions he’d suppressed for so long seemed to crest inside him the more he spoke.

He barely noticed when he started to shake, hands trembling as he closed them into fists, talking about the anger and helplessness he’d felt, how he’d wandered since then, seeking help and finding none, a symbol burning on his skin that was the only link he had to a past he could not remember, the anger he had directed at himself, how weak he’d felt, unable to do anything except exist… and then a hand fell on his arm, steadying him, grounding him, and warmth blossomed inside his chest that was not his own.

“Words cannot express how sorry I am,” Zenyatta murmured, shaking his head.

Nomad glanced up, eyes wide, and saw his optical receptors glow golden, the same hue floating between them through the connection made by Zenyatta’s hand on his arm.

“What…”

“For asking you to share such painful story,” Zenyatta continued. He’d moved closer without Nomad noticing, kneeling by him, his presence grounding. “I cannot begin to understand how frightening it must have been, to find yourself alone and with no memories. Yet you persevered, and seek to find yourself again. That shows just how strong your soul is –there is nothing to be ashamed of, Nomad. You could have sought a new life for yourself, lived with what you had, yet you still search because you feel it is important, this goal of yours. How could this be weakness?”

“I…” Nomad swallowed thickly, feeling a knot in his throat at Zenyatta’s words.

He’d faced so many who’d been unable to help, only suggesting him to let his past go, focus on his present, unable to understand the bubbling urgency Nomad felt in his blood, the desire… no, the _need_ to find those lost memories, like something important was missing that felt… vital to him.

He had wondered, many times, if he was delusional. If it would be better to accept those suggestions and let go –make himself a new life, learn to live with the sensation of bugs crawling under his skin, demanding compensation for something.

And now –first after so many, someone had sided with him, vindicating his despair.

Noticing he was unable to speak, Zenyatta offered him an omnic smile, forehead array flashing brightly before fading. “Forgive me also for this.” He removed his hand, and Nomad felt the warmth recede, fading from inside him. The loss made him swallow a noise of disappointment. “Without something to stabilize the connection, it is far too easy for me to allow my emotions to slip through and open a connection with the Iris. I did not mean to use it on you without your permission.”

Nomad swallowed again, and licked his dry lips. He did not quite get what Zenyatta was saying, but the change of subject allowed him to focus again, and when he tried to speak, the words came out almost steady.

“I don’t think I… I understand.”

Still kneeling by his side, Zenyatta lifted one hand in front of him, and unbidden, something golden glowed on his palm –a small, trembling orb of light, warm even at this distance, enough that Nomad yearned for it.

“As you know, I am a monk –I belong with the Shambali, a group that settled far from here, in a monastery on the mountains of Nepal. We study and learn through the Iris –and the Iris allows us this connection with it, so that through our own emotions we are able to harness some of its power, be it healing or corruption, to use. Of course,” he continued, noticing Nomad’s alarm, “how we choose to use that is part of why we are a peaceful group. We only seek balance, and equality. We exist to assist.”

“So this is…”

“This is the Iris’ power of Harmony –very few among us have been able to truly touch the Iris and create a contact with it so freely. So few, in fact, that there are just two of us.” Startled at the casual confession, Nomad’s eyes widened, switching between the warm orb in Zenyatta’s palm and his faceplate with awe growing inside him. “This… is used to soothe pain, or confusion, or anxiety. We can speed up the healing of a body to an unmatched rate, or repair a wound to its previous state, or bring calm to a troubled soul.”

Nomad’s cheeks burned, but he did not truly feel embarrassed –between the steady, casual tone and the mesmerizing golden orb in Zenyatta’s hand, Nomad did not feel stressed or annoyed, or angry or… upset.

He’d just vented at a perfect stranger about his past, his emotions, without even thinking about it –simply because it felt right to do so, and rather than judge him for that, Zenyatta had listened and offered him comfort, and…

“Thank you,” he murmured, touched by the selflessness of the monk in front of him. “Forgive me for unloading all that shit on your shoulders without as much as a prompt.” He laughed, a little bitter, a little wry. “I guess I needed someone to listen.”

“Then it is no coincidence I was here,” Zenyatta finished, and rose to his feet, Nomad looking up at him. “I thank you for confiding in me. The Iris sometimes works in mysterious ways, and it is not always clear what path it has carved in front of me, yet…” Zenyatta stepped back, shifting to tug on Nomad’s sleeve, uncovering his tattoo, “it is no surprise it brought you to me.”

“So… you know of this symbol?” hope flared within him like a flame for the first time in forever, and Nomad wondered if he even had enough strength to face all the surprises he’d been dealt over the course of a single day.

“Yes. It is unfortunate… for me, at least. The symbol belongs to an organization that has been seeking to harness and control the Iris’ power, and use it as means to create chaos in our world.” Again, Zenyatta’s hand moved to his neck, an unconscious gesture Nomad recognised with painful familiarity. “It is probably this organization who stole my mala.” Zenyatta gave him a considering glance. “I cannot say if it is them who stole your memories, nor why, but if they are involved, then we might have a common goal now, Nomad.”

Feeling his skin tingle, Nomad swallowed again, uneasiness buzzing in his chest.

This was it. He’d travelled far and wide, and had never found any link back to his life before, and now, in the span of a few hours, he’d freed a magical omnic monk from a sealed room, only to find, finally, a connection.

It was almost too good to be true, and yet…

“I will help find your mala,” he said, words coming out of his mouth in a rush. “I will do all I can so you can have them back. Will you…” he hesitated, not sure what he wanted to ask, but Zenyatta hummed, managing to look amused despite not having facial expressions.

“Finding my mala might not be as difficult as you think,” he said, tapping one finger to his mouth piece. “The problem would be getting them back once they’ve been found.”

“Then I will help with that! But…” hands still clenched into fists, Nomad looked up, meeting the even gaze of the omnic. “I wish to come with you and face this organization. I want to have my memories back. I want… I want my _name_ back.”

There was a flicker deep in Zenyatta’s optical receptors –something golden yet not, a mix that almost looked purple before it vanished. “I might not be able to get you your memories back, Nomad, but I am indebted to you for my freedom –and though I cannot do much without my mala, there is still something I can give you back.”

Nomad’s heart lurched up to his throat, and he felt almost dizzy. “Wait, you mean–”

“I might be able to steal your name back, Nomad. There are things that must be repaid –you have freed me, given me time and life again which had been stolen from me, and this lack of balance cannot exist. As payment for my freedom, so that we will have a clean slate between us, I will call your name back to you. Do you accept?”

Nomad nodded, without even thinking about it.

He knew –he could feel the thrum of Zenyatta’s magic return to the surface, stronger than before, and it was not warm anymore, almost cold against his senses, enough that he shivered at the feeling– but it was still the same, familiar in a way he could not explain. There was something bigger around Zenyatta, slithering around his body with the size and heaviness of an otherworldly being, possessive and massive, and Nomad felt the pressure like a feathery touch against the back of his mind.

Yet, he felt no malice there, no hatred, no rage, no evil.

He’d freed something not human from that sealed door –an omnic who could connect with a higher consciousness…

And thanks to that, Nomad now had a real chance to find his memories again.

“Please,” he said, voice shaking in anticipation. “I accept.”

***

It had to happen the next morning.

Zenyatta was still tired –the circle of magic had sapped him of his energy, and he did not have his mala with him anymore, stolen by the same people who had sealed him away, so he needed the rest of the night to gather his power. Nomad could understand, as he was tired as well, with both the travelling and the way the night had turned out…

Yet he could not sleep.

Curled up inside the cocoon of blankets and pillows, Nomad continued to glance towards the silent, hovering omnic in the corner of the room, the gentle red lights humming softly as he bobbed up and down a few inches from the floor.

Zenyatta had offered to leave the room and find himself another place to recharge, but Nomad had declined. Part of him did not want to let him out of his sight, the selfish fear that he would run before giving him what he’d promised a flicker in the back of his mind, but he knew the stupidity of that thought –if Zenyatta couldn’t do it he wouldn’t have offered.

The omnic did not seem perturbed, simply settling down in a corner to rest, and that was it.

In a few hours, Nomad would have a name again.

The fact made him feel less enthused than he’d expected.

Nomad should have felt happy, excited, even… and part of him was, but not _all_ of him.

It was… scary, in a way. He’d wanted it for so long, dreaming of the day he would get it all back, but now, facing the promise of his name back, he did not feel relieved or full of anticipation. He felt… jittery.

Nomad’s skin was crawling, and despite his constant fiddling with the water bottle he had near the bed, the attempts at stretching his legs for a comfortable position and his breathing exercises, he still could not sleep.

He glanced over at the resting omnic again, his heart clenching in his chest at the soothing view. He was still there. He would help.

Just a few more hours.

Taking a deep breath, Nomad turned to look at the window instead.

The storm was calming down, or at least the rain had stopped hitting the window too hard, but it was still so dark outside he could see almost nothing; the rain should have been soothing, but the anticipation cursing through his veins made it impossible for him to truly settle down.

“Nomad.”

Startled, Nomad shot up on his makeshift bed and cursed, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he snapped half of his body to the side, the knife already in his hand without him even thinking about it, pointed at–

Ah.

“Forgive me,” he muttered, once again ashamed. “Did I wake you up?”

With deliberately slow motions, Nomad put the knife away under the calm, watchful optical receptors of Zenyatta. Neither mentioned the fact that his hands were shaking.

“I could feel the turmoil within your soul,” Zenyatta said. He did not sound upset or angry, just… “I understand it would be hard to sleep in such a state of heightened anticipation.”

“I’m just…” he hesitated. It sounded stupid even to him, but Zenyatta had already heard him talk about his past and his fears, and it did not feel as bad like this, in the dark, with just Zenyatta’s forehead array and glowing eyes as the only light. “I worry. I want my name back, yet the thought almost frightens me.”

How could he explain that he wanted it, yet felt scared that his name would mean nothing to him, if it came with no memories? He did not know the person he’d been before, the person whom that name had belonged to, and now he was going to receive that name again. He was not that person yet.

Nomad had been so intent in his quest to find himself again that now that at least a little fragment of that was going to be returned to him, rather than relief, he only felt worry. It felt like he was stealing something that was not his anymore, and he hated feeling like this.

Zenyatta hummed. “Understandable. It is something you don’t know –or well, remember– and you are going to receive it again. The name belongs to you, but you worry that it would fit on you weirdly, because it comes with unfamiliarity.”

With a soft huff, Nomad chuckled. “You have a way with words.”

Zenyatta took his words at face value, voice amused, as he spoke again, “Thank you.”

For a moment, they remained silent. Nomad restrained himself from outright telling Zenyatta to go back to sleep –if he couldn’t recover enough, he would not be able to give him his name back– but that felt uncouth and selfish to say, so he kept quiet. By the way Zenyatta tilted his head to the side, observing him, he wondered if the unspoken words had been ‘heard’ regardless.

“I think,” Zenyatta spoke again, attracting his attention, “that it is valid to be wary about receiving something you’ve wanted for so long, but expectations might make this unpalatable if you allow your fears to fester.”

Blinking, Nomad exhaled. “It is easier said than done. The worries I carry are insidious.”

“Indeed.”

Nomad frowned, dissatisfied. “I worry…” he hesitated, then shook his head. “I’ve wanted to find myself for so long, but… what if what I have left behind is not…” _‘good?’_ he wanted to say, but the words died on his lips.

Again, Zenyatta seemed to understand nonetheless. “Do you feel evil, Nomad?”

Taken aback, Nomad shook his head, forceful even as he leaned forwards, hands clenched into fists. “No!” then, surprised at his own reaction, he stammered, suddenly unsure. “I had no inclination to be… evil, but… it could be simply because I was too focused to find myself again. Maybe I was. Maybe I still am,” he added, the words bitter on his tongue.

“Life is full of those short, fleeting moments where we’re placed in front of a decision. It might seem silly, but each one of them contributes to how we see ourselves. An abandoned kitten in a corner of a street, an elderly man who has fallen and cannot get up anymore, someone overcharging a purchase, or feeding us spoiled meat… the way we choose to react to these situations paint a picture of us to ourselves that we look at every day.”

“So just because I might help a lost kitten it means I am not… evil?”

“Certainly not! But it would help you believe you are not. Souls need conviction, even if we lie to ourselves.”

“Then how do I _know_?”

“Without memories, the you of now followed me in the rain to talk, because you felt my distress, and wished to be close.” Zenyatta’s forehead array flashed in the dark. “Without memories, you are worried. You have a conscience. You _wish_ to be good.”

“Is that enough?”

“Only if you feel it is. If your past scares you, you can only face it with acceptance. Whatever your past was, you have been given a clean slate now. Take your name tomorrow, and find your past again –and then, if the result is unpleasant, carve for yourself a new path.”

Nomad bit down on his lower lip. “Were we not talking about this earlier? That I was not to feel at fault for not wishing to make a new life for myself?”

“With your name and your memories back, it would not be a new life but a change of heart. And even then, you assume you were a bad person. Is it so hard to believe you were not?”

Nomad shook his head again. “No. Maybe… I worry I might have been…” he swallowed, but this time he completed his thought out loud, hushed. “Not good, yet not horrible either. Just… unremarkable.” he shrugged.

Anyone could dream of doing wondrous things, or even daring to think about being feared, but was it not worse to worry about being neither? Of having just been nobody special, only caught in the middle of something by mistake?

Zenyatta’s soft laugh took him by surprise. “I would not find that to be a bad thing. Not being special is not something to despise. There might be no surprises, but there is stability in such a life, and comfort. Are you not seeking some peace and quiet, after all your travels? Or did you think that with your memories, you would have new, exciting things to do?”

Nomad blinked. “I… I don’t know.”

“You were placing so many expectations on your quest that you forgot that the point is… to just continue living, Nomad.”

He wanted to snort, but then Nomad stopped to think about it.

It sounded easy, when said like that –continue with his life, no matter what that was.

Zenyatta chuckled. “Though if you seek something more, afterwards, you are certainly free to do so. But you should not fear your past or your name, Nomad. They belong to you –and like any tool at your disposal, you can use them to carve whatever future you’d like to have with your own hands.”

Nomad inhaled sharply, nodding even though he knew Zenyatta would not see it.

It was stupid, how much he’d been worried and how easily Zenyatta had dispelled his worries with the simple, honest truth –something he should have considered on his own, but had not.

Whether his past was good or not, maybe he still had a chance to change it –but he had to find himself first. If he liked what he found, that would be nice, but if not… there was still a chance that he could create a new life for himself, afterwards, without having to abandon his past to do so.

Maybe Zenyatta would be kind enough to offer him pointers on that, as well.

It was not a bad idea. It was not a bad prospect.

“I cannot begin to understand what it would mean to lose my sense of self and my identity,” Zenyatta continued after a long pause, aware of Nomad’s confused thoughts, “but you are you, Nomad. With a name or not, you still exist. The you from before, the you of now… there is no need to overthink the link that exists between you two. You have proved yourself to be resilient, and this name is just one step towards your resolution, nothing more, nothing less.”

And that… was also true.

Exhaling slowly, until his lungs burned and he had to inhale sharply, Nomad found his hands had stopped shaking.

Shoulders slumping, Nomad realised he’d been incredibly tense. He blinked, and a wave of fatigue washed over him, strong enough he found himself yawning.

“Perhaps you should try to rest. There are a few hours left before morning comes.” Zenyatta sounded… fond, almost. The tone someone takes when they are looking out for another.

“Perhaps I should.” Nomad hesitated, a yawn interrupting him before he could speak again. “You say things that sound obvious, but I never thought of them like that before. You’re good at that.”

“Why, thank you!” and there was amusement in Zenyatta’s tone now, something that sounded light. “I have been known to take a student every now and then, though I could say not all of them appreciate my teaching side.”

Nomad hummed. “Maybe once I have a name, I could be your new student. I think… I would like your guidance… master Zenyatta.” He’d meant to sound teasing, to joke with the omnic who’d helped him enough already, but his words sounded more serious and honest than he’d wanted them to and it was no surprise to him to realise the idea was not unpleasant.

A beat of silence, and Nomad glanced towards him, surprised when he noticed the red light of his optical receptors grow until they resembled a pair of glowing beacons in the dark of the room.

“If that is what you wish,” Zenyatta murmured, and his tone became softer. “But perhaps you should sleep on it first.”

And in the following silence, broken only by the softer noise of rain against the window, Nomad fell asleep, not quite calm but definitely less anxious.


	4. Chapter 03

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as mentioned before, this chapter has fanart from one of the artists of the bigbang, Nichiirin!
> 
> [tumblr link here](https://nichiriin.tumblr.com/post/189130017768/genji-zenyatta-repeated-sweetly-and-genji)

**Chapter 03**

“What things do you need for…” Nomad made a vague gesture with one hand, awkward.

Zenyatta turned to look at him.

There were faint traces of Nomad’s fretful sleep on his face, though the cloth wrapped around his head helped hide them, but Zenyatta’s optical receptors noticed them easily –red eyes, slight bags under his eyes… and yet, Nomad appeared awake and active, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Compared to his worried self from the previous night, he truly appeared much better. More alive.

Zenyatta could appreciate that easily.

As Zenyatta looked at him, Nomad looked right back.

Even in the sun, Zenyatta’s faceplate looked kind and unassuming, but there were more details Nomad could see now in the sunlight –there were metal indents on his faceplate that resembled a giant, oversized moustache, and between that, his choice of clothes and the tilt of his optical receptors he seemed… somewhat magical, the way children fairy tales genies often were.

The thought had Nomad smile, just for a moment.

“You mean for getting your name back?” Zenyatta’s voice scattered Nomad’s thoughts, and he nodded.

“Yes.”

“I actually do not need anything. It would have been better if I had my mala, but even without them all I need is myself…” Zenyatta paused and looked around them to the small room. “And perhaps some more space.”

He had woken up first, finding outside a clear sky and the sun shining on them, no clouds at all, the storm of the previous night now a thing of the past.

Waiting for Nomad to wake, Zenyatta had walked around the village for a bit, mourning for the losses, humbled at the sight of the town now abandoned and empty, but had returned by the time his companion had finally awakened, preparing for him a bit of breakfast –nothing much, considering the pantry food, but enough to fill his stomach.

Nomad had scarfed down everything in record time, hungry for more than just the food, but Zenyatta had remained patiently by his side, fiddling with the letters he’d recovered from his bedroom.

He wondered if his brother thought him gone, and the idea was unbearable enough that Zenyatta forced himself to think about something else, though it brought his mind back to Nomad himself.

With his memories gone and no idea where to go, what had happened to his family, the people he’d been close to? Did they think him dead?

“Then we might as well get it over with,” Nomad said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “If you are ready, I mean,” he amended, hastily backtracking.

“That I am. Are _you_?” Zenyatta’s kind tone seemed to surprise him.

“Yes.” His answer was quiet but sure, and Nomad nodded to himself.

Zenyatta could still sense a seed of doubt within him, but Nomad had faced his fears, and it had given him strength.

Nomad followed Zenyatta into the garden of the church, the trees swaying slightly in the breeze, and it was only now, with the sun shining above them and the storm a thing of the past that he finally realised the extent of whatever had happened to the town –there were no animals in the trees, no birds chirping, no bugs or any crawler around them. Nothing.

He hesitated mid-step, and Zenyatta hummed, almost as if detecting where his thoughts had travelled.

“Yes,” he told him, quietly. “All life.”

Nomad took a deep breath, watching Zenyatta’s back. “What was taken?”

“The relics that had been kept here for longer than I have been alive, probably.” Zenyatta sighed, hands abandoned at his sides, thumb and index forming a circle. “And of course my mala.”

“Why would they take your…” Nomad hesitated. Weapons? Tools? “… mala?”

“It is possible they expected them to be able to amplify any kind of magic surging through them like they do with mine,” Zenyatta’s voice sounded a little distracted, as if he was talking with himself rather than with Nomad. “Or…” he paused, and looked down at his hands.

“… or?”

“Or… perhaps they thought they were the _source_ of my powers.” Zenyatta turned to look at him. “To find them again, I need to be in a place where magic is thick enough that it will allow me to expand my senses and reach out to the residual trace within my mala. Considering my connection to the Iris, I will have to return to my monastery.”

Nomad blinked, unsure why Zenyatta was sharing this with him –he would follow Zenyatta anywhere with the promise to find those who’d stolen his mala and Nomad’s memory– but then he realised with a start that Zenyatta was being open with him about his… their plans, rather than leaving him to follow blindly without explanation, and the thought was… heart-warming.

“That is alright. This way, you will be able to check up on your… brothers?” his hesitation had Zenyatta chuckle, the sound like tingling bells. “Sorry, I don’t quite know all the right terms. Never met a monk before –that I know of.”

“Feel free to ask me any question you want, then. Curiosity is a welcome trait.” A beat, then Zenyatta tilted his head forwards, the angle shifting the shadows on his faceplate so that it almost made him seem coy. “You can even ask about our sex life.”

Spluttering and taken aback by Zenyatta’s words, Nomad gawked at him and Zenyatta burst into a bout of giggling, shoulders shaking in mirth. “W–wha–?!”

“Forgive me, Nomad –but it _is_ a question many have thought to ask.” The amusement in Zenyatta’s voice was enough that even Nomad relaxed again, shaking his head.

“Absurd.”

“More or less than the thought that omnic monks might not be celibate?”

“Les– I mean!” stumbling over himself, Nomad felt blood rush into his cheeks, though his embarrassment lessened as he heard Zenyatta laugh again. The sound was pleasant enough that he did not mind if he laughed at him. “I walked into that one, did I?”

Zenyatta nodded, then opened his arms wide, facing Nomad fully, and his forehead array burned brightly, the red light reflecting in his optical receptors taking a golden tinge.

Abruptly, Nomad’s embarrassment died away, replaced by a jolt of anticipation as he realised Zenyatta had wanted to lighten the air between them before starting.

He watched, mesmerized, as the familiar golden light surrounded his frame, trickling from inside him like a waterfall, slow but unending. Zenyatta’s synth vibrated in a deep, throaty hum, and under Nomad’s shocked eyes he seemed to raise in the air, folding his legs underneath him, floating in the air rather than falling on the ground.

Mouth open wide, Nomad watched as a wave of warmth expanded from his frame, curling around him like a welcoming embrace. Any doubt that was left within him, any ache, any sadness –suddenly felt less important, soothed by the presence of something else, something so much bigger than Nomad could ever hope to be.

“Oh,” he murmured, reverently.

It felt familiar, in the way seeing an older relative without being able to remember their name felt –the taste of the magic humming in the air around him warm and pleasant, licking at his skin and seeping into his body like golden mist, filling him and making him shake.

Raw, strong, untethered –Zenyatta’s power was building around them like a beacon, and for a moment Nomad felt a spike of contentedness at the thought that no one else was around to see, the sight; the vibrant magic reached out for him slowly, a thread of light that Nomad felt compelled to accept, the connection sliding in place between them.

It felt like Zenyatta was right by his side, and that everything would be alright, and then–

Six arms unfurled from behind Zenyatta’s frame. They were glowing, golden and ethereal, forming a halo around him as the light became almost too much, and Nomad flinched, pushing cloth around his head to shield himself.

_ “Open,”_ it felt like the magic was saying. _“Give in.”_

Not to him but–

Nomad felt a knot in his chest jostle, and it touched his consciousness so abruptly it took him a second to realise what it was. Dark magic, pulsating and humming, answered to Zenyatta’s touch, hissing and bubbling from within his chest, fighting the golden glow.

For the first time, Nomad became aware, in a way he could not explain, of the emptiness of his memories and what had taken their place –something dark, and oily and disgusting, sapping at his energy so sneakily he’d never noticed the drain.

Now that he was aware of it, he felt a surge of disgust that was quick to be washed away by the golden glow as it advanced, sure and unstoppable, wrapping itself around the knot and…

–_pulling._

Nomad grunted and his first reaction was to back away –his skin was crawling unpleasantly even underneath the gentle golden glow– but he refused to, jutted his chin up and watched Zenyatta, his unmovable frame hovering in front of him, so distant yet so close through this connection forged between them.

Zenyatta was still humming, his light absolute, stealing away Nomad’s sight of the world until everything was bathed in gold, and he had to close his eyes again, though the light still seemed to penetrate through his eyelids, unrelenting.

Something inside him was fighting against the golden and for a moment he was afraid that it would be too strong, that it would win and Nomad would never–

And then, Zenyatta raised both hands to his core, clasping them together, tilted his head forwards, and… something inside Nomad lurched and _gave in_.

The knot eased –not disappearing but lessening, and Nomad swallowed, taking a step back when he felt almost light on his feet, a weight on his chest he hadn’t even known he was carrying finally disappearing, and together with it, Zenyatta’s golden light faded almost all at once. The magic swirling around them was cut off, and Zenyatta descended back on his feet, while Nomad, suddenly feeling weak, slumped down on the grass, legs weak, like he’d run a race, heart thundering in his ears.

They were not connected anymore, but inside him, Nomad could still feel it –the lingering presence of the light, of Zenyatta’s soul touching his own.

“I…?” he tried to speak, but Zenyatta had moved already, slightly unsteadily, to kneel at his side, and before he could react, he’d gently cupped his face.

The touch was so sudden and unexpected that he almost lashed out, but at the same time he couldn’t help but lean closer a fraction, surprised but pleased at the feeling of cool metal hands on his skin.

“Genji,” Zenyatta breathed out, so softly he almost did not catch it.

Even then, it took him a few seconds to understand what Zenyatta had said, and then his eyes widened in shock.

“That is…?”

“Yes.” Reverently, Zenyatta pushed their foreheads together, the motion so smooth Nomad… _Genji_… felt himself ache. “Forgive me if I had to push so hard, but the curse wrapped around your heart was stronger than I had anticipated. I hope I have not harmed you…?”

“No,” Genji’s tongue felt thick, overcome with gratitude and something else bigger than him. “I only felt you, and that did not harm me.”

“Genji,” Zenyatta repeated, sweetly, and Genji ached again, from his heart to the way his eye burned with unshed tears. “Your name is Genji.”

***

After so long without seeing the sun, it was almost a pleasure to have warmth shining on him as they gathered whatever supplies they could before leaving the small village, directed North.

Even more pleasant was the fact that for the first time in over a year he was no more Nomad –he had a name now.

Zenyatta seemed to be aware of his emotions, because he seemed to have fun calling him as much as possible, even if only to direct him to pack more meat or an extra blanket, but the flicker of his forehead array whenever Genji’s head snapped up, elated at hearing his name spoken so casually, was enough to show he was enjoying this little game as well.

Though as he finally secured his backpack, a little pang of guilt at taking so much from this unlucky village –including some money he’d found stored in a safe, that he knew no one would miss yet made him feel like a thief– Genji found his thoughts returning to Zenyatta more and more. He observed him, movements casual yet purposeful, as he took only the barest things, and he caught him more than once offer a silent gesture of thanks. It was clear Zenyatta was just as regretful for the fate of the village, and while Genji had met none of the people there, before Zenyatta had been sealed he’d seen the village alive and well.

While he considered the matter, another thing poked at the back of his mind and Genji waited until Zenyatta was done packing to approach him.

“Zenyatta…?”

“Yes, Genji?”

Dispelling another thrill at the casual use of his name, Genji cleared his throat. “I wanted to ask… the people who sealed you away… they probably hoped you would never be found, right?” he winced at his brutal words, but Zenyatta simply nodded.

“That was probably their goal, yes.”

“Then… would it be better to change your clothes so they are not as…” Genji made a small, aborted motion.

“… oh.” Surprised, Zenyatta looked down at himself. “I suppose you are right. This appearance of mine might make it harder to travel back home without attracting unwanted attention, and what we need is speed and anonymity.”

Genji watched as Zenyatta removed his tall, feathery hat, looking at it for a moment. He could not tell if he was mournful about it or not –he supposed a monk should not feel as attached to possessions, but then again this was no human monk… maybe omnics had different beliefs?

The direction of his thoughts was familiar, and Genji sighed, remembering his words from the night before.

He wanted… there was something about him that felt old and reliable, the kind of person Genji could see himself learning from. Maybe it was his being a monk, or perhaps the connection to the higher power he’d used before, or his attitude… but it did not change the way Genji felt.

Calling such a person a master…

Yet, words spoken while tired would not be as heartfelt as words spoken with intention. He wanted to consider the matter first.

For now, they were only planning to travel together. There would be enough time for him to think about it.

“It is disappointing. I had adapted to this attire of mine, but you are right to say it is quite flashy… and so are most of my others. If we need to be inconspicuous, I will revert to my original appearance.”

Zenyatta’s words dispelled Genji’s train of thought, and he watched with a jolt of surprise as Zenyatta seemed to shift, flashing not golden but a soft, teal omnic light, and… the hat vanished, his beautiful clothes fading from view leaving his upper torso naked, pants now replaced by a pair of older, ripped ones the colour of sunlit sand, with a red sash wrapped around his midsection. Even his faceplate changed, much to Genji’s shock –a single forehead array dot melted and split into nine, the shape of his optical receptors changed, and the red glow faded to become teal as well as the shade of his servos and chassis softened from black to metal-grey.

The transformation done, Zenyatta stretched his back slowly, glancing down at his arms.

“It has been a while,” he said, voice amused, and that had not changed. “How do I look?” he turned to glance at Genji, and he snapped his mouth shut.

“Uh…” Genji was left speechless.

Zenyatta looked… softer. The curves of his faceplate were… gentler, the slant of his optical receptors making him seem even more benevolent, much more open than he’d looked before, and even the ‘mustache’ had disappeared, leaving his mouthpiece bare.

Where before he’d looked almost regal yet sly, now he looked kind, unassuming, and…

“… cuter,” he said, then slapped one hand on his mouth, embarrassed at his thoughtless words.

Zenyatta’s forehead array –now teal– faltered in surprise before he chuckled, fingertips pressed together in front of his chin. “Why, thank you!”

“So… this is how you normally look?” attempting to leave behind his earlier embarrassment, Genji swallowed and took a step forwards. “Why did you look like…?”

“Some people think appearances to be more important than they should, and a monk like me might be taken more seriously if he looks more dignified… though of course it depends on the person. This…” Zenyatta moved his hands to encompass himself whole, including the ripped up sash and the broken pants, “might not appeal as much, even when it is simply a matter of perception. Yet sometimes attracting attention is important.”

“Have you… do you have many other… attires?”

“Just a few, but they all look… fashionable.” There was a tone of teasing in his voice that Genji did not miss. “I do admit I prefer to look like this, but it is also fun to dress up sometimes.”

Genji snorted, shaking his head. “Oh, then do they make it easier to flirt?” it was meant to be teasing, but Zenyatta tapped a finger against his chin, appearing deep in thought.

When he answered, his tone was just as teasing. “Any of them would be fine, but this old one has its charms I’d say.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Again unable to stop himself, Genji snapped his head to look away, cheeks burning like fire, but he did catch the way Zenyatta’s shoulders jolted a little bit, probably just as surprised as he was. “Uh… r-ready to go, then?”

“… yes,” Zenyatta turned away from him, faceplate directed to the outline of the mountains in the distance. “It should not take us long to reach the monastery, if we use a… shortcut.”

“Shortcut?”

“Magic has its uses,” Zenyatta replied, cryptically. “We should get going.”

***

Travelling with someone else was not the same as travelling on his own, but it did not take long for Genji to get used to the difference.

For one, while Zenyatta was light on his feet, and had little need for rest –Genji needed breaks every now and then, but his body was resilient and could go for miles with just some food and water–it seemed he stopped often on his own simply to look around, optical receptors focused on this or that, and if every break seemed to coincide with a moment when Genji himself needed to take a sip of water or a bite of food, well… he would not begrudge himself the chance to rest at the same time, and Zenyatta never made it seem like he was doing it for him either.

Another thing he’d noticed was that Zenyatta seemed unusually fascinated with the world, in a way that he would have associated with kids, not with an adult omnic, but at the same time, something in the way Zenyatta looked around himself, joyous whenever he spotted a lone bird in flight or even a beautiful flower on the side of the road was… endearing, in a way. Like he could still see the beauty in the world surrounding them, like he was not used to it the way Genji himself felt he was.

It made Genji pause too –look at whatever had taken Zenyatta’s attention in an attempt to find the same beauty the other could see. He’d lost a bit of himself chasing his memories, but now…

Maybe seeing the world again with new eyes was something he needed as well.

“Have you been around this area often, Zenyatta?” he asked at one point, during their second day of travel while they took a break, Genji sitting on a flat stone and Zenyatta kneeling in the tall grass a little away from him. “You seem to know where to go, but everything surprises you.”

A chuckle was his answer, followed by Zenyatta twirling around, an armful of yellow flowers that slipped out of his hold and onto the grass, surrounding him like a colourful halo.

“I am not familiar with this place, no. I am following a magical trail to one of the Platforms of Travel.”

Genji blinked. “I had no idea there was one around here.”

“I see you are familiar with them,” Zenyatta flopped down on the grass, nimble fingers already at work with the flowers he’d picked. Genji found his attention caught by their delicate, deliberate movements, the way he twirled the stems around so seamlessly, and then he snapped his eyes away, feeling a lick of embarrassment. “Have you used them often?”

“Actually not that I can remember. I do not possess magic on my own, but I’ve spoken with those who do during this past year.” He fingered the handle of the knife at his side, idly looking past the grass meadow and towards the mountains, that looked just as far as they had been the previous day.

Zenyatta looked at him, and in the moment of silence, Genji could feel his optical receptors zoom on him.

“… I see.”

“Why?”

“It is possible the trace of magic I felt was the curse placed upon you, but there is little reason to cast such dark magic unless a person is…” a beat “… of interest.”

Zenyatta did not stop making garlands, but Genji felt a sudden chill. “You… think my magic was stolen?”

“Or suppressed. It is difficult to say, though either way it’s a possibility.”

“Is this why you wanted us to travel through a magical Pathway? To… test whether or not I can?”

“In short yes. Whether your magic was stolen or suppressed, or something equally afoul happened, the traces left within you would be enough to allow you safe passage. If not, it would not be a problem for me to extend to you a trickle of my Harmony to allow you to use them.”

Genji swallowed, nervousness rousing inside him again.

“There is so much of my past that I am missing,” he murmured, and when his eyes returned to Zenyatta’s precise motions, he did not make himself look away anymore. “Sometimes it feels like I’ll never fully catch up… not even if I find my memories again.”

The knot of worry, of feeling useless and powerless, threatened to come back, and he swallowed, exhaling softly.

“I understand.” Zenyatta finished curling the last flower into the garland, then gently reached out, dropping it on top of Genji’s head. “There. You look rather dashing.”

Genji blinked, his bad thoughts dispelled like snow under sunlight, and found himself laughing softly. “Thank you. I do not know how you do it, but you seem to always know how to…” he made a vague gesture to encompass himself. “I’m a bit envious.”

“The trick is easier than you would think.” Zenyatta’s voice softened, and his gaze wandered to their surroundings, even as he started making a second garland. “I did not start my life as a monk, and unfortunately I had to learn a lot of things on my own… skin, so to speak.”

Genji offered him a small smile, but Zenyatta was not looking at him.

“My master… my brother, Mondatta, he found me one day in an abandoned alley. I had been beaten and broken. I do not remember anything from before then, and even that time is unclear in my memory banks.” At Genji’s sharp gasp, Zenyatta shook his head. “No, nothing like what happened to you. Mine was simply because I dared to exist as an omnic. There are many who do not look at me and see a soul worth of living. Many see me as a heartless machine, and one with no free will. I do not remember what happened, or who hurt me, but I remember… I was looking at the ground, then, and I thought I would die, and that the last thing I’d see would be the dirty ground of an alley. I longed to see the sky, have one last good thing to ease my way into a shapeless, empty death. And then Mondatta found me, and gently rolled me around, and I saw him, and behind him the sky peeking from above the alley’s rooftops and walls, and…”

His voice trailed off, and his hands, now idle on the flower garland, allowed a few blossoms to fall on the grass. Genji swallowed. He had not expected Zenyatta to share this –he could understand why, since he’d been the first to tell him about himself and his past, and yet he had not expected him to… return something this private.

He felt helpless, not knowing what to do, whether to offer comfort with his words or let him finish speaking, but before he could decide, Zenyatta exhaled softly.

“… well. It felt like I was offered a new chance, reborn in Mondatta’s arms as one of the Shambali. I realised that life could be incredibly short, but that even little things can help you during your worst, darkest moments. A small glimpse of the sky, the smell of your favourite sweet, or stopping to admire flowers in a field. All of this feels little in the face of the adversities we might encounter, but any small comfort is still enough to offer us respite when we are in need. After that we must keep on fighting, but…” Zenyatta’s fingers started weaving the flowers again, rhythmically twisting and curling stems together, “it helps to remember that no matter where you are, no matter your feelings, you still have the sky.”

Genji licked his lips, a weird pressure in the back of his eyes, and he blinked to dispel it before it could become tears.

With a soft, pleased hum, Zenyatta slid the newly-created garland on top of his own round head. The yellow was bright and colourful, and under the sunlight it looked like molten gold, reminding Genji of Zenyatta’s Harmony. “How do I look, Genji?”

Genji’s laughter was quiet and short, but heartfelt. “Like the sun,” he murmured.

With a little, happy laugh, Zenyatta stood up again, towering over Genji, and offered him a hand to stand up as well.

“Well then. You feel rested enough to continue now, Genji?”

“Yes.” Genji brushed his clothes to rid them from the crumbles of his food and smiled. “Let’s try this Pathway, then.”

His footsteps were considerably lighter as they resumed their brisk pace, and Genji found his eyes returning to Zenyatta more than once, unable to look away for too long.

Perhaps it was the silly flower crown Zenyatta refused to drop –though Genji could not fault him for that, as he was also reticent to abandon his own, fingers coming to caress the delicate flowers on top of his head rather often– or perhaps it was his kind demeanour, which made Genji feel at ease in his company, or the new appearance, but… he continued to steal small, curious glances at him.

Whether Zenyatta was aware of them or not, it didn’t matter, though Genji guessed even if he did, it would not bother him.

A year since his loss of memories, and Genji for the first time felt optimistic.

His train of thought was interrupted when Zenyatta stopped, optical receptors looking at what appeared to be an empty meadow on the right side of the road they were on.

It looked bare and non-descriptive, and Genji’s eyes seemed to wander from it, uninterested.

“We are here,” he said, sounding satisfied, and Genji frowned.

“… there is nothing here?” but as he said that, he felt a prickle on his skin, and he tensed. “… or is there?”

“Your perspicacity lends credence to my theory, Genji!” Zenyatta knelt to pick up a small pebble from the road, and under Genji’s watchful eyes he threw it towards the empty meadow… and the pebble disappeared into thin air. “There is a magical barrier to keep people who should not know about it away.”

“… ingenious,” Genji muttered.

He wondered idly if the people who’d taken his memories used this kind of magic to hide from him, and the thought was worrisome… except that Zenyatta seemed sure he could track his own orbs down no matter what.

It was simply a matter of trust.

Zenyatta moved out of the road, sparing a glance to his surroundings just in case, and Genji hurried to follow, hesitating only a second when Zenyatta, just like the pebble, flickered and vanished from view right in front of him.

The ripple of something washing over him was a startling feeling, and the prickle on his skin felt like a sudden itch, but it was gone as fast as it’d appeared, and then the meadow was suddenly not empty anymore.

They had found the Platform of Travelling.

In front of him was a gated, paved circle of stone that reached the edges of the meadow, and right in the middle was a beautiful red tent with golden borders, curved and rather tall, a pole with a flag swaying slightly in the breeze with a symbol that Genji did not recognise but that felt almost familiar to him, blue on white.

There were two men sitting in front of the tent, both smoking –the older one a pipe, the younger a long cigar, but at Zenyatta and Genji’s appearance, they both looked up.

“Oi, we’ve got customers!” the man with the cigar stood up slowly, a lazy smile on his lips, and tipped his hat their way, giving Genji a once-over before turning to look at Zenyatta, eyes widening. “… and what a customer! It has been a while since a Shambali has used this Pathway.”

“It is surprising to know any has passed by here to begin with,” the other man snorted. He stretched his legs without standing up, puffs of smoke rolling in the air around him from his pipe, though the smoke seemed to make his contours less clear, somehow –like his body was also made of smoke. “Wasteland as it is. Wonder why that old woman’s still keeping this thing working.”

“I am rather grateful it does, else we would have had at least a month or two of travel by foot,” Zenyatta chuckled, moving closer to the duo. “Tekhartha Zenyatta,” he introduced himself, and Genji watched with curiosity as the two men straightened their backs instantly. “My companion and I are headed back to the Shambali monastery.”

“Great then. Boss is inside so we’ll get you through this thing in no time.” The man flicked the cigar out with a careless motion and then opened the tent’s entrance with a flourish. “Though your presence here doesn’t really help with my attempts to get her to retire and close this place down. Been useless since the area’s empty.”

“We’ve noticed the village, yes,” Zenyatta kept his tone even, and Genji did his best not to flinch at the mention. “Abandoned as it is, very few travellers must pass by nowadays.”

“Indeed, but the old croon wanted to keep this place going.”

“Old croon, huh? Young ingrates maybe need a good shove to kickstart their brains.”

The man froze, a sheepish expression flashing on his face along with guilt as a short, elderly woman peeked from the opened tent, a black patch covering one of her eyes. “Oh, c’mon now Ana, you know I don’t mean shit by that–”

“You never mean anything you say, yet you always air that mouth like you’ve got big thoughts in there.” Ana answered, dry yet amused, and he pouted. “Wonder if there’s anything left after all those cigars smoked all the meat in there into charcoal.”

“Well…”

Zenyatta observed them, and though Genji had only met him for a short few days, he could already tell by the tilt of his head and by the way he held himself that he was rather amused at the display.

“Tekhartha Zenyatta.” Ana turned to look at him, and her lips quirked in a thin smile. “I knew you would come. I have been waiting for you.”

Zenyatta’s amusement faded into confusion. “Do we know one another?”

“No, but I am an Oracle. I foresaw your arrival.” Ana delivered that with a steady, deadpan voice, ignoring the way Zenyatta’s shoulders jolted in surprise. “Nothing specific, just the knowledge that a Shambali would need to pass through here. I’ve wanted to retire to the beach for a while, but it seemed imperative I stayed behind.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” the man with the hat stepped forwards, looking completely baffled, “is this why you’ve been so determined to stay in this forsaken shithole? For…” he waved a hand towards Zenyatta, then seemed to realise how uncouth he sounded, and coughed. “Uh, I mean. Why was that so important?”

“I knew you had no Sight or similar gift, Jesse, but I thought you were at least listening when I was teachin’ you.” Ana rolled her eyes. “If I had a vision, then it has to happen. I thought I taught you better than this.”

Genji watched the two banter, somewhat amused but mostly surprised at the turn of events.

“Then I must thank you. It is, in fact, important for me to travel through and reach the Pathway near the Shambali monastery. My companion and I are in dire need of help.” Zenyatta stepped forwards, and bowed respectfully to Ana, who nodded at him.

Awkward, Genji bowed his head as well, and caught Ana’s lips twitch upwards at that.

“Please head into the tent. I will open the seal to the Pathways for you.”

“And then, do we finally get to leave this empty hell?” the man with the pipe, who had observed the developments without speaking, finally stood up, back creaking. “Because unless you have more omens that tie you here, I would love to see that beach you were talking about, relax and rest for once. Jesse would, too, though I bet he’ll burn like a crisp under the sun.”

Jesse spluttered, but he looked almost hopeful, and Ana rolled her eyes.

“You do know both of you are half the reason my back hurts so much when it rains, right? If there’s someone who deserves retirement on the beach, that would be me.”

The man snorted, and Jesse had the decency to look sheepish.

“Now move your butt over to the generator, Gabriel. Unless we wrap this up, the beach will remain a distant dream for us all.”

“Sure, sure, no need to get bossy, _boss_.”

Genji and Zenyatta shared a bemused glance with one another, then doing as they were told, they entered the tent.


	5. Chapter 04

**Chapter 04**

Magical Pathways had been invented at least a century or two in the past.

They were not unlike normal roads, except they were made of pure, unfiltered magic. They stretched into thin air like strands of power, invisible to the naked eye, travelling at speeds that no human could ever manage to match; it was true that only magic users could travel this way, but technology had advanced alongside magic during those centuries, and all over the world trains and other contraptions were slowly gaining traction, offering options that anyone could use… though none of them could compare to Pathways. Not yet.

These roads of magic could only be used by those who could manipulate magic, or had magical ancestry or blood –monks, witches and practitioners, as well as any creature under the sun or moon, could use the Pathways to travel from one side of the continent to the other at a fraction of the time it would take using the normal way.

In the past they had been abused, and many had tried to use them for fiendish reasons, and because of that, guards had been hired for every Platform. They would regulate the people passing by, inspecting their signatures to gauge intention, and block the passage to those who sought to do no good.

The Platforms were usually magical circles disguised and disillusioned, so normal people would not stumble onto them without meaning to, with the entrance for the actual Pathway surrounded with protection barriers and one or two guards that would keep the flow under check to avoid congestion.

The one Genji and Zenyatta had found was an older stop that had passed from hand to hand… until it had been assigned to Ana Amari –an old, almost-retired Oracle who dreamed of beaches and cool drinks and rest more than she did prophecies.

As Zenyatta finally entered into the tent, followed by Genji, he was welcomed by a wave of magic that washed over him, inspecting his intent before retreating, and with a little glance towards the actual Pathway entrance –a circular door made of runestones, not yet activated– he turned to look at Genji.

He opened his senses a bit and watched the magic prod at Genji’s frame before retreating, having found him compliant with the rules set for the Pathways.

“It is as I said,” Zenyatta told him in a quiet murmur. “There is magic in your blood.”

Genji’s eyes snapped to him, then widened as he connected the feeling of magic on him to Zenyatta’s words.

Ana, all business-like, entered behind them and passed by their side, stomping over to the Pathway entrance and beckoning them closer.

Grumbling softly, Jesse and Gabriel also entered into the tent, one tugging his hat off and the other tapping the underside of his pipe into a nearby ashtray.

“I am sure our travellers want to get through as soon as possible,” Ana grunted at her two helpers, and both snorted.

“Yeah, yeah, though with how much time has passed without a customer, I’m surprised I still know how to work this thing.” Jesse said, smiling brightly at Zenyatta and Genji to reassure them he was just joking. “I’m a conjurer,” he explained right after that with a small shrug. “You gotta do all the weird jobs to get by, nowadays. Hey, since I’m gonna be unemployed soon, do you two need a companion maybe?”

Genji snorted when Jesse waggled his eyebrows, because it was obvious the offer was not quite a real one, and shook his head. “You’d prefer to join a couple foreign travellers than stay with your companions and… retire to the beach?”

“Why, mister traveller, it almost sounds like you don’t wanna hire a highly competent conjurer?” Jesse fired back, good-naturedly. Even as he spoke, he slid in place, standing on top of a white, flat stone on the left side of the Pathway circle.

Gabriel followed him, rolling his eyes as he took place on the other side, on a black stone. “If you keep that up I’m the one who’s going to sell you off to someone, Jesse.”

“Children, behave,” Ana chided, but she was smiling as she went to the back of the portal, right behind it, standing on a grey stone. “I can always send both of you away. Now _that_ would be a vacation for me.”

Zenyatta’s soft chuckle startled all three, but they seemed to relax right away, the happy sound almost like windchimes. “Forgive me, but I enjoy your banter. I would never steal one of your family away from you–”

Jesse snorted, smiling, “Aww, hear that? He said we’re family–”

“–but I have to admit what stands in front of us is rather dangerous. I would never ask anyone to get involved like this.”

“Well, now, that’s kind of you.” Jesse seemed almost worried now, and the glance he sent Ana’s way looked almost urgent.

“If I had seen your departure from us, you would not look at me like this, Jesse.”

Jesse shrugged, but said nothing, shoulders drooping. Zenyatta was almost surprised to see a flash of disappointment on his face –that man was worried enough that he had wanted to join to help them out.

Genji cleared his throat. “Miss, uh. Miss Ana? If I might…”

“Yes, child?”

Despite a part of him wanting to bristle at the implication that he was a child, no matter her age compared to his own, Genji let the thought go. “What did you… See, about Zenyatta’s arrival here?”

“Unfortunately, nothing pertaining to whatever it is you have to do. I just knew I would need to wait until a Shambali had need to use this Pathway. We have been waiting here, and haven’t had much contact with other Platforms recently, so I don’t think we could give you any news that you haven’t received already on your own travels.”

Despite the small frown on Genji’s face, he nodded. “I see. Thank you regardless.”

Zenyatta hummed softly, hands linked in front of him. “The Iris guides our journey,” he said, almost to himself, and Genji’s ears twitched at the soft, warm words. Then, he straightened his back. “We must be off now. Thank you, Oracle Ana. May we meet on better circumstances.”

Jesse tipped his hat at him, and Gabriel gave him a nod, then both of them clapped their hands together, and blue flames suddenly sprouted from their fingers. Ana moved slower, snapping her fingers from both hands, and a red fire lit up and rose through the air, creating a connection of swirling fire between the three.

Under Zenyatta and Genji’s eyes, Jesse’s features seemed to shift, his skin ripping, claws stretching from his fingertips and fangs growing from behind the thin line of his mouth, as magic forced his blood to react. On the other side, Gabriel’s entire body seemed to gain a fainter appearance, parts of him dissolving into smoke while he maintained his position.

Between them, the entrance gate to the Pathway suddenly lit up, the runes on each stone on the arc burning crimson for a moment, then blue, then white. A ripple went through the empty space within the circle, like air itself had turned into transparent water, and then Ana, standing behind it, vanished from sight, replaced with a mirrored reflection of Genji and Zenyatta.

“Access has been granted,” Ana said, her voice sounding far away, even though Genji knew she was just behind the opened ‘door’. “May your travels be successful, Shambali master.”

“My thanks,” Zenyatta murmured, then he wasted no time, and stepped towards the entrance, and then–

He walked through it, disappearing from sight.

“Ah… thank you. Goodbye!” eyes wide, Genji hastened to follow, then paused when he was inches from his mirrored image. “Have a safe retirement at the beach! Hope you don’t get bored!”

And then he followed Zenyatta through the gate.

With a swirl of lights, the path closed behind them.

Jesse and Gabriel unclasped their hands, and the blue fire extinguished instantly.

“Well then!” Jesse turned to look at Ana, expectant and gloating, fangs glinting comically with the floppy grin he was sporting, “can we leave _now_?”

***

“… I don’t know what I was expecting, but definitely not this.”

Zenyatta chuckled at that, tilting his head behind to look at Genji. “I am sure.”

“I mean…” Genji made some kind of vague gesture with his hands, encompassing the nothingness surrounding them.

No, not nothingness –the milky, creamy white, not harsh enough to hurt, but dull, yet glittery at the same time, like it contained a duality Genji could not put into words.

Magic.

“I jest,” Zenyatta interrupted him, but he was still smiling with his forehead array, teal lights flickering. “I was rather surprised the first time I travelled through a Pathway with my master, Mondatta. He laughed at me because I had expected the two entrances to be connected, not…”

“… not to have to actually _walk_.”

Genji was not unnerved, though –it was true that as far as the eye could see, there was only the glossy shine of magic surrounding them, but it did not feel constricting nor too open. It felt like a velvet mist, clouding the eyes if one looked too far into the distance. He was truly grateful for the fact that there was a path to follow, though –it looked and felt under his feet like a gravel road of black pebbles, but every few steps he could detect the red glow of runes peeking from underneath that reassured him that magic would not lead them astray.

And of course, the path remained sharp, not hazy like the rest.

“Still, how does it know where we have to go?”

“Would it annoy you if the answer was… magic?” Zenyatta teased, good-naturedly, and chuckled when Genji sighed out loud. “Unfortunately, that is exactly how it works. I stated where I needed to go before the door even opened, but magic detects intent –and answers to that.”

“What if someone changes their mind while inside this place?” yet, Genji felt like he knew the answer already, and frowned. “I guess the magic would feel the change of mind and react accordingly.”

“Yes. Every path is connected with one another, unless a gate is destroyed.”

“How long do we have to walk? Is it safe to stop and rest?” peeking once again in front of them, Genji saw no difference, no arrival point, nothing. Just a stretch of black disappearing into the magical mist.

“The magic stretches time as we walk. Though you perceive it as a long walk, in truth when we reach our destination only hours will have passed –at most, a day or two. We won’t need to rest while inside, though this place does feed on our magic so once we leave we might have to rest and eat to replenish what has been taken.” Zenyatta hummed softly.

“Wait. And… you would have used your magic to cover both of us?” startled, Genji stepped forwards, hesitating before placing one hand on Zenyatta’s arm, stopping him.

Zenyatta turned around to look at him, kind optical receptors reflecting the magic around them in a way that made him look resplendent, metal shining.

“I would have enough for that, and we have decided to travel together, did we not?”

Genji swallowed on his dry mouth. “Why?”

Zenyatta tilted his head towards him, and stopped. “Why what?”

“You said it yourself –we are even now that you helped me get my name back. Why did you decide we could travel together? I mean, I know…” Genji made a small motion with one hand, “it is the best strategy to have allies nearby when you plan to face the same enemy, but… you could have gone on your way without me. You have magic, you have a way to track your mala, you do not need to have me weighing you down. You did not have to go through so much trouble, or even offer to pay the price of this place for me.”

Zenyatta hummed. “It was not necessary, in the end,” he said, and chuckled at Genji’s scoff. “I am an empath, Genji. Not all the time –it is a power I can control at will, and most of the time, I latch on my senses so not to invade other people’s emotions, as it would not be proper. But when I fought the curse for your name, it was impossible not to feel you, with the way you broadcasted your emotions so strongly. There was no deceit there, no lie or desire to backstab me. I could trust your willingness to travel with me to face our mutual adversary.”

“You accepted to allow me to travel with you before then, though.”

“That is true. I decided to trust you even before then.”

The statement was delivered with candid honesty, and it baffled Genji so much he shook his head, confused but touched at the same time.

“You should not trust the first person who frees you from a seal, you know,” he said instead, teasing Zenyatta to divert attention from the way his heart seemed to ache. “Not good for business.”

“Well, I will make sure that the next time I’m sealed away, I will not trust so easily the one who frees me. Is that enough?”

“Yes, I think that will be a weight off my back.”

Zenyatta had not truly answered him, but as they resumed their slow, even pace, Genji found out he did not mind it. The thought of someone like Zenyatta trusting him, even if they’d just met, had him smiling, though he tugged the fabric over his mouth to hide the reaction, a little embarrassed at how content he felt with such simple thing.

He guessed it did not really mattered, in the end, but he was grateful… not just because having someone strong and reliable like Zenyatta could be useful in a battle against an incognita –and a part of Genji’s brain, the calculating, devious part, was relieved he could rely on him– but simply because he liked Zenyatta’s personality, his teasing, his wry humour and presence, and he hoped that maybe they could part as friends, once this journey ended.

Or, a small voice piped up from the depths of Genji’s mind, as he slowed down, observing Zenyatta’s back with wistful eyes, maybe he could truly become Zenyatta’s student… and then they would not need to part at all.

After all, why else would they agree to not part, if not that?

Hunching his shoulders a little higher, Genji rushed to keep up with Zenyatta’s pace, trying not to think about it.

“Say, Genji,” Zenyatta spoke again after a few moments, startling him, “may I ask what will you do, afterwards?”

Genji frowned, and glanced over at his companion. The timing was a surprising coincidence.

“Well,” he started slowly, narrowing his eyes as he considered the question, “I guess I might… visit where I was born. Maybe seek out people I’ve known. I am sure I miss them, even if I don’t quite remember who they are.”

“I see. And after that?”

“I…” Genji smiled to himself. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll actually hunt down these… Shambali guys I keep hearing about. Find some peace and guidance there. I heard there was this one monk who might accept me as his disciple.”

“I would not see you well, among our ranks,” Zenyatta answered in tone, “a bald look does not seem your kind of thing.”

Genji barked out a laugh. “No way am I cutting my locks. I should let them grown instead, get that hair long enough for a cool warrior ponytail. Bet that would add to the whole ‘handsome fighter’ vibe I’ve got going, hmm?”

“Oh, so that is on purpose?” Zenyatta chuckled. “Does it work?”

“Well…” with a careless shrug, Genji smirked. “I wouldn’t know, I was a bit more focused on something else. _Does_ it work?”

Stopping again, Zenyatta turned to look at him, then made a show of circling around him, oohing and humming, and Genji swallowed down an amused snort, attempting to look serious, even if his lips kept twitching upwards, but he lost the battle when Zenyatta, rather than answer him, started walking down the path once again, leaving him behind.

“Hey, you can’t leave without answering me, Zenyatta!” rushing to catch up to him, Genji couldn’t hide the smile, the fabric around his head pooling around his neck.

“Some questions are destined to never be answered, Genji, one must accept the truth and learn to live on,” Zenyatta told him, sounding so sage and monk-like that it ripped a laugh out of Genji.

“Sure, _master_,” he told him, and the easy way the word rolled out of his mouth made a shiver run down his back. “How did I do without your important teachings before?”

“Why, I would say you were fumbling around, but thankfully now I am here.” Zenyatta shot back, the amusement in his voice showing he was joking as well.

“I’m really thankful.”

Genji had meant to deliver this in the same teasing tone as before, but somehow, the words came out honest and a little breathy –and nonetheless, he meant them. Zenyatta’s pace faltered, just a little, hesitating a fraction of a second, then he shook his head.

“You might get bored of this old omnic at some point, I might as well share some smart words while we’re still travelling together.”

“Who knows? Maybe you’ll get bored of me sooner than that… also wait, old? How old are you?”

“Centuries and centuries old, Genji.”

“How many…?”

“Twenty years, give or take.”

Spluttering, Genji’s hand snapped to his mouth to stop another barking laughter. “Oh, I see, an old soul indeed.”

Still, he couldn’t help but be surprised –he’d thought that, with all his powers and his ability to shift forms, Zenyatta must truly have been older, an experienced monk and a magical user worth following… but he was… definitely younger than Genji himself was (and Genji had no idea how old _he_ even was).

Rather than put him off, Genji couldn’t help but feel a little more respect for Zenyatta instead –so young, yet he was already a master, able to take on disciples and teach…

“Any other important, sage teachings you could share, old soul?” Genji made a show of bowing to him, but the smirk did not leave his lips.

“Well, I guess I could try to remember. You know, at my age, memories sometimes are fleeting.”

“Oh, _please_.”

***

Genji had never truly managed to appreciate how good having company felt.

He had no idea if he’d been a chatty person _before_, but ever since waking up without memories as Nomad, Genji had, without thinking, kept himself from making friends, or even acquaintances other than those he strictly needed as connections.

Whether it was because a part of him was scared –of losing his memories again, of the people he’d forgotten, people he was sure he’d loved, before– or simply wary, the truth did not change, and yet now as he spent time with Zenyatta, joking and simply talking as they continued to walk through this nothingness made of magical energy, Genji found himself feeling lighter than ever before.

He had missed this –not just companionship, as he still travelled with others sometimes or visited bigger towns and cities, looking for clues– but the simple joy of joking around and having someone answer back.

The two of them had banded together solely to solve both of their problems at once –find Zenyatta’s mala and also Genji’s memories, taken by the same people– but Genji found himself liking Zenyatta, appreciating his company and cunning words, refreshing in their honest teasing, even more so when followed by his clear, cheerful laugh.

Genji had never thought he could settle somewhere as an apprentice –it just did not feel like him– but the more time he spent in Zenyatta’s company, the easier it felt to imagine it… even more so when Zenyatta admitted, in a soft voice, that he would not mind returning to the monastery to stay, after retrieving his mala.

He might not have felt any of the time spent sealed away, but his brother had, and he missed Mondatta enough to make this an easy decision.

The last year of his life had felt like a never-ending travel for Genji as well, and he caught himself wondering whether resting for a while in one place could do him good.

If staying with Zenyatta would.

Still debating the idea, Genji did not notice Zenyatta halting at his side, and took a few more steps before he realised he was walking alone.

Turning around with a frown, he noticed Zenyatta was standing still, head tilted to the side as if listening to something Genji could not hear. “Is there a problem?”

“The entrance to the Pathway near the monastery should have opened here,” Zenyatta finally answered, after a few long, quiet seconds. He sounded worried, his shoulders hunched up a little. “There is nothing here.”

Genji felt a cold shiver run down his back, and he hurried to Zenyatta’s side, even as Zenyatta raised one hand, fingers splayed in the air, and magic coalesced around him, syphoned from the white mist surrounding them, glistening with golden speckles as it swirled around him.

“No,” he said, and his voice echoed, synth vibrating with magic. “There is something here, but it is… close. Outside, the Path has been forced shut.”

“Does that mean we have to go elsewhere and travel… outside?” Genji licked his lips. This did not sound normal at all.

Did this mean that on the other side, the Platform had been destroyed?

“We might have to. When a Pathway is blocked, unless there is someone outside to open it, just as Miss Ana did, nothing we can do from here will…” he wavered, and his synth glitched. Genji took a step towards him, surprised when he saw Zenyatta stiffen. “_No_.” he spoke then, synth tight, something in his voice sounding off all of sudden –there was another layer to it, lighter yet deeper all at once, bubbling from under an invisible surface as magic grew thicker around him, the gold growing darker, stronger, some of the edges dipping into something else entirely, so dark they looked black, or even purple– “_It will open_.”

Magic hummed, coalesced together, forming a set of orbs around Zenyatta, glistening golden and purple, spinning and then forming a single, pulsating sphere in front of his open hand as he pushed against thin air, the orb reacting as if it’d been shoved against an unmovable surface, and Genji winced, a pressure against the base of his skull that tickled and tingled, and Zenyatta stepped forwards, still _pushing_, and then–

The air gave in, and Genji’s eyes widened as a portal opened right in front of him, the rim flickering and sputtering as the gold soothed the raw edges, smoothing them over, widening the opening until it was as big as the one they’d passed through to enter the magic Pathways.

Zenyatta stumbled backwards, shoulders slumping as the magic faded back into the air, and his forehead array grew dimmer, reflecting the white around them before turning teal again. “We need to leave,” he told Genji, a tad unsteady. “It will not stay open for long.”

“What happened…?”

Zenyatta turned to look at him. “The Will of the Iris,” he said with wonder, and though he had no expression, Genji could see he was exhausted now. “I felt the Iris touch me, leading my hand.”

“Isn’t that supposed to happen…?” Genji wondered why he appeared so surprised.

“The Pathways are made of raw, unfiltered magic. The connection between this world and the Iris is stronger here, but also more impersonal, unreachable. It cannot be harnessed here, nor can any of the magic that makes this place stable, but I… _I_ did not commence the connection myself.”

He seemed perturbed, and his hands were shaking.

Genji exhaled softly, looking between the ripple in the air and Zenyatta.

From inside the Pathway, the mirror did not reflect their faces at all –it returned to Genji the image of their backs instead, as if they’d been facing away from the exit instead of at it.

In a way, it was unnerving, like they were being watched by someone unseen.

“Seems like your Iris wishes you to reach the monastery too,” Genji muttered, attempting to lighten the tension between them.

Startled, Zenyatta looked at him, and as if his words had been some sort of magic spell, Zenyatta straightened his back. “Then we should do as it asks.”

Genji nodded, hiding his worried behind a careful, quiet mask.

Whatever had happened now, it had shaken Zenyatta –but Genji could see the pattern now. The oracle had mentioned Zenyatta would need to pass through, and now the Iris itself had reached out to aid him…

Zenyatta might call himself a simple monk, but the power he could harness spoke of something more. Bigger.

Whether it was gentle or not, Genji had yet to see it, but for now, that kind of power was on their side.

That was all he needed.

And he could always trust Zenyatta himself.

He was the first to pass through –jittery as he was, he felt the need to act, and he moved towards the reflection of his back with no hesitance, merging with the image of himself, and passing once again into the world outside the Pathways.

Zenyatta emerged only seconds later, stumbling a little, and Genji could sympathize –it felt like he had been walking for days, a fatigue so deep into his bones that he felt he could drop in front of the door and sleep for days.

Except…

There was no door.

There was no building, or tent, around them.

Only the ruins of a broken building, stones and bricks covered with ivy and vegetation, and the rusty pole that had once displayed a flag abandoned on the ground, partially hidden by roots and vines.

Ahead of them, a stone path led down a steep hill, the air chilly around them, the sky fading from pink to blue, signalling it was past sunset.

Zenyatta leaned against the crumbled wall, looking lost and tired and confused.

“What… what happened here?” he asked, knowing there would be no answer.

Genji looked behind them. Where on the other side there had been a stone circle, and Ana and her companions had activated it with their magic, here there was _nothing_. No trace of any sort of magical circle, or seals or carved symbols, just curvy, tall trees, and short bushes.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, he yawned, and his stomach grumbled.

Genji groaned, understanding what Zenyatta had meant, now that he could feel it –if such a walk through magic could make him this hungry and tired, he could understand why only expert magic users chose that way of travelling. At least a normal trip by foot allowed actual rest.

Above his own fatigue, Genji couldn’t help but feel worried for his companion –Zenyatta had looked exhausted after touching the Iris, so he probably felt even worse now. The sensible thing was to stop and recharge, and seek more information afterwards. It was still daylight –how long had they spent travelling through the Pathways? Genji had no idea– but it would be best to recover until the following day at least…

“Zenyatta, we can stop here and wait tomorrow to–”

Footsteps stopped him, and as he turned around, he caught a glimpse of Zenyatta’s back as he ran away, following the cobblestone path as it slithered down the hill.

It took him only a second to react, a sliver of panic surging inside him at the sight, then he started to chase him, unwilling to be left behind.

“Zenyatta, wait!”

Zenyatta did not seem to hear him, feet pounding on the ground as he ran, following a familiar path.

The hill opened up, trees allowing Genji a good view of the path spiralling down across a bare streak of rocks with only little grass peeking from them, and everywhere around them, the beautiful sight of snow-tipped mountains welcomed his eyes, surrounding him, the white reflecting on the sun above them.

It hit him then that they’d truly travelled miles in what felt like mere hours –from a warm meadow in the middle of nowhere to the mountains, so high up he could feel the chill against his skin and in his lungs every time he inhaled.

The view was… breath-taking. He wasn’t even sure if he’d ever seen a similar sight before, but it was beautiful.

Genji forced himself to look away, hurrying down the path so not to lose sight of Zenyatta, who had not stopped for him.

Zenyatta was headed down the right side of the hill, where the path took a sharp turn and then went up again, a crest blocking the view, and Genji did his best to hurry, not wanting to lose sight of Zenyatta in fear that he would not be able to keep up with him.

How he could still run, when Genji felt tired and grumpy and hungry…

The moment Zenyatta reached the edge, he froze.

“Zenyatta!” hurrying to reach him before he could take off again, Genji panted, lungs burning. He was not used to the change in altitude, and he _really_ wanted to eat. “What’s wrong? What…” and again, Genji’s words faded into nothing as he reached Zenyatta’s side and his eyes fell on what had caught his attention.

Below them the hill took a sharp incline, revealing to him a valley, closer to what appeared to be a passage going up the side of the tallest mountain.

Nested in the valley, a village.

Or at least it had been a village in the past.

Now, though…

Genji’s lungs burned as he leaned on his knees, watching what was left of the village –ruins, mostly, few houses still intact as most of them were broken down, vegetation already taking steps to reclaim the area.

At his size, Zenyatta let out a soft, pained whimper.


	6. Chapter 05

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter there's art as well! you can find it here as a link!
> 
> [Idontlikesalmon's art](https://idontlikesalmon.tumblr.com/post/189130546944/my-piece-for-the-genyatta-big-bang-i-drew-this)

**Chapter 05**

The village in front of him had been abandoned.

Zenyatta’s optical receptors zoomed around, seeking some kind of answer, but there was none –what had once been a village he’d known so well, now there were just ruins, abandoned and empty.

Broken down buildings, houses razed to the ground, circles of burnt grass to show where fires had spread to the sheds where the animals lived… no one who lived there had remained. The place was deserted.

Unlike the state of abandonment of the village where he’d been sealed away, the view spoke of a different fate, but in a way, similar as well. Zenyatta could feel in the air a leftover charge, something humming at the edge of his senses.

The village had been attacked with both force and magic.

Distantly, he could hear Genji’s voice, but it sounded far away, his auricular receptors buzzing, his own fans spinning so fast they made him dizzy.

Gone.

What about the monastery?

Zenyatta’s frame trembled, the thought leaving his servos aching and weak, fear washing over him like a tide. He stepped forwards, his mind a whirlwind, the need to see his brothers, to see Mondatta, taking control of him, invading his every thought–

He stumbled over his feet and fell, hands and knees hitting the ground so hard his processors filled with pain.

In his panic, he’d forgotten just how tired he was –and now his body could not move, heavy and depleted, betraying him.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and Zenyatta, startled at the touch, looked up into the openly worried face of Genji, eyes wide, lips moving, but he could not quite pay attention, so he shook his head, shoulders drooping, and returned to look at the village, only for Genji’s hands to cup his faceplate, forcing him to look away from the sight and back to his face.

Trying to fight it, Zenyatta lurched forwards, forehead array flashing, and Genji’s grip tightened, steely as it was, making Zenyatta feel almost powerless as Genji leaned forwards, invading his field of vision until he took over it and pressed their foreheads together.

This close, Zenyatta could feel Genji’s breath against his faceplate, and the dull rhythm of his heartbeat where they were touching.

It was not calm, but it was slower than Zenyatta’s fans, slower than his panicked, fumbling mind, and Zenyatta found himself focusing on it, on the way Genji’s lips moved, repeating over and over again something Zenyatta could not hear.

After what felt like forever, Zenyatta’s fans slowed down, synching with the tempo of Genji’s breath, and the buzzing in his auricular receptors faded into a dull background; Zenyatta’s overcharged, overwhelmed processes onlined again.

“–three, four, five. One, two…”

Genji’s voice, soft and steady, seeped through Zenyatta’s consciousness.

He was counting, slowly, and Zenyatta jolted a little, realising Genji was attempting to give him something to focus on other than his panic.

Latching on that, on his repeated words, Zenyatta shuddered, his own hand coming to cover one of Genji’s, shaking.

“You alright?” the care in Genji’s tone almost surprised Zenyatta.

They’d travelled together, yes, and Zenyatta had offered Genji care and trust, but he had not expected to receive the same back, not so soon. Not from a traveller who’d lost so much.

Yet, he couldn’t help but feel awash with gratitude, for Genji’s strength was now his own.

“… no,” Zenyatta admitted, the heaviness of reality still weighting on his core, “but thank you.”

“I would ask you not to run away like this anymore, but I fear you wouldn’t be able to promise me that.” Genji gave him a wry grin, and Zenyatta sighed, shaking his head slowly.

“We need to rest,” Genji decided, and moved away, making Zenyatta miss the closeness, then offered him a hand. “You cannot run all the way up to…” Genji’s eyes flicked towards the top of the mountain. Since it was not yet sunset, Genji could see the tall towers of the monastery even from where he was standing. “Not like this, at least,” he amended.

“I do not think I could.” It pained him to admit, but Zenyatta felt… depleted.

He had not rested as well as he should have after Genji had unsealed him, and due to the energy expended travelling through the Pathway, Zenyatta knew he had little left. He would need to rest –and for real– but how could he, with the village in ruins in front of him?

What about Mondatta?

A part of his core knew the answer already, and he could not face it.

“Come,” Genji tugged him back on his feet, giving him a once-over and nodding to himself. “We’ll camp away from here. Whatever happened to the monastery, it can wait one more night.”

Zenyatta knew Genji was right –he could not manage to travel to the monastery as he was, and if there were nasty surprises on the way there, he would not be reactive enough to neutralize them.

Yet, he ached –his entire soul was screaming, feeling the tug of the Iris deep within him, so much stronger here than in any other place, cultivated and strengthened by the monks over many decades.

He wished to go, but the warmth inside him was like a dull throb, as if cautioning him at the same time.

For the first time since Genji had freed him, Zenyatta truly understood that he had been trapped for a long time, and he was now paying the price of his freedom.

Everything familiar to him was gone, and he had no explanation for it… and he still did not know how long it had been.

With his core heavy, Zenyatta allowed Genji to lead him away, the horrifying sight disappearing as they moved towards the broken remains of the Platform, surrounded by trees once again.

Much to Zenyatta’s relief, Genji did not speak for a while, gathering some wood into a small pile and setting it on fire with careful, practiced movements. Zenyatta, grateful to have nothing to do, slumped down near the wall where the Pathway had opened for them, staring at his hands.

He missed his orbs.

This was not the first time he’d felt unbalanced, but in the past he’d always had the sound of his mala to focus on, aiding his meditation, and missed the way they had grounded him.

Still, observing Genji as he moved around, preparing a makeshift campsite for them to rest, gave him a modicum of ease, allowing his circuits to be soothed by the silence and then the crackling of the fire, a soft column of smoke lifting towards the sky.

It was only when Genji slumped down in front of him, grabbing some of his meat to heat up near the flames, that Zenyatta finally made a sound, sighing deeply.

Forgive me,” he said, and watched as Genji stilled, peering up at him.

“Why?” he asked, and then, hastily, “I mean, there’s nothing to forgive, why would you say that?”

Zenyatta’s forehead array flickered in a smile, “that is kind of you.”

“It was kind of you to listen to my woes as well,” Genji replied, without missing a beat. “The difference is that…” he hesitated, faltered, swallowing his food and wiping the grease from his lips, self-conscious, “I was a stranger, then. One you did not know.”

Zenyatta, startled, stared at him in wonder, warmth spreading through his chassis, lessening the emptiness he felt. He looked up, past Genji’s head, where the treetops were hiding the mountains from his sight, and thought about the monastery, waiting for him.

It was true, yet he still felt an itch of denial, even with Genji’s words.

Genji had been a stranger, yes, one who’d just freed Zenyatta from his prison, but Zenyatta could never turn his back to a suffering soul. He could not ask anyone to do that for him in exchange, especially not someone he’d just met…

And yet.

“Thank you,” he said, instead of allowing his thoughts to focus on the matter.

He remembered well enough Mondatta’s words, asking him to stop doubting his own value when faced with that of another person. It was a lesson he’d yet to master.

Mondatta…

He still could not keep his thoughts from wandering back to the monastery, and the abandoned village.

Deep in thought as he was, he did not notice Genji stand up, and was startled when he sat down once again, this time at his side, close enough their knees touched.

Before them, the fire flickered brightly, keeping the growing shadows at bay.

“I’m sorry,” Genji murmured. He did not look his way, hands on his lap, but Zenyatta felt the wave of grief coming from him, and ached at the thought that Genji was feeling such a strong emotion on his behalf. “I hope they are safe somewhere else, now.”

“I hope the same thing, Genji.” Zenyatta sighed. “I had not expected the world to change this much. It feels like I have not lost a single instant, yet so much has happened in-between that I’m left hard pressed to catch up.”

“Do you think…” Genji swallowed, mouth dry, “that Talon had something to do with the village’s destruction?”

Silence enveloped them as Zenyatta considered the question, grateful to focus on something less pressing than the monastery.

The obvious answer was ‘yes’, and Zenyatta knew there was no other option left, but what left him stumped was the ‘why’. Talon had been attempting to court the Shambali for a long while now, but never this obviously, never with violence. There had been veiled threats, promises, attempts to lure them in, but with only a handful of them able to harness the Iris’ energy, it did not matter what other members promised or said –Talon would not get that power.

Now, the village near the monastery was destroyed, and despite the denial Zenyatta felt, the monastery would be in a similar state.

Why had Talon attacked?

And again, Zenyatta thought about his missing mala.

“My orbs are not the source of the Iris’ powers.”

Genji perked up, glancing at him.

“The Iris is within me. It is part of the magic surrounding the Pathways, a subtle presence easily lost unless one knows where to look. It is part of the world, aiding growth, keeping balance. An entity transcending time and space, which embraces everything and everyone. My mala were built by my brothers, by Mondatta, with the exception of one, to be of use to _me_. I can control the raw energy of the Iris better, with them, shaping it so I can use it to protect myself and help others.”

It took Genji only a few seconds to understand why Zenyatta was telling him this. “You think Talon stole your orbs thinking they could learn to use the Iris through them?”

“It is possible, yes. And while my brother, Mondatta, has more knowledge and far more experience at manipulating the energy of the Iris, he rarely uses it, even less in public. If Talon kept tabs on us, they might have… misunderstood.” After all, with how few Shambali could touch the Iris and how little the power was used in public, usually waved away as normal healing magic, it was possible.

Which would explain why they’d sealed him away. Zenyatta was… stubborn, Mondatta always said so. Talon considered the Iris as power to control and harness, not as an entity untouchable by living beings, so… they would have seen Mondatta’s gift to Zenyatta as proof that Mondatta had retired, retaining the leadership but leaving full control of the Iris’ powers with Zenyatta, his second. Stealing from a travelling monk would appear easier than attack the congregation, and return to them, demanding Mondatta to bend to their will and teach them how to harness the Iris, thinking they’d gained its power…

It made sense.

And… “Perhaps, this is what happened with you as well.”

“You think I had something Talon wanted to acquire, and I was left with… amnesia and a wound?”

“For how insidious and ingenious Talon members appear to be, they are also rather vain. Their magic leaves behind a visible signature to impress others, and scare them –but in doing this, they leave themselves open for retaliation. It is simply fortuitous we met and were able to join forces, though it is still a desperate measure if we end up facing them alone.”

“I don’t think either of us could take on that organization alone, not if it’s been chasing you monks for this long without anyone attempting to help.” Genji knew he was cunning, and in the year since the loss of his memories he’d gained weapons and a secret stash of aces up his sleeves, but he also knew his own limits.

“It would be rather difficult, yes. But no action starts with its completion.”

“So like… become the thorn in their side?” Genji’s expression shifted to something darker, intense, and Zenyatta’s stare remained trapped on him, unable to look away. “Sounds good. They have a lot to make up for –even if I only remember the aftermath.”

“I thought you wished to settle for a bit, after this.”

Genji bit down on his lower lip, then looked into the distance, and with a start, Zenyatta realised that night had arrived and surrounded them while he’d been deep in thought.

“Settling down is nice, but one should always have a hobby or two. Seeking ways to take down the organization that left you for dead and amnesiac sounds like a good start to me.”

The startled, quiet laugh that left Zenyatta’s synth surprised both of them, Zenyatta’s forehead array burning in embarrassment as Genji’s lips stretched into a small smile, relieved to see Zenyatta more responsive now, less distraught.

“What about you?” he asked.

“… well.” The steel in his tone was not lost on either of them. “I am an omnic of many talents, and I think I could juggle some more duties.”

“Wouldn’t that, well, go against your…” Genji made a small twirl with his fingers.

“… vows?”

“That, yes.”

For a moment, Zenyatta felt less heavy, the small grin on Genji’s lips soothing the ache inside him.

“I have always had a different approach than my fellow monks, and it is why they crafted me the mala –they understood and accepted that part of me.”

“I knew I picked well when I chose you as my master,” Genji grinned at him, almost impish, and Zenyatta looked at him. Had he needed to breathe, he would have been left breathless.

“You still have a chance to run, Genji.”

“Nah.” Settling better at his side, leaning on his arms and staring at the open sky above them, Genji’s expression softened. “Would never find anyone as interesting to follow, better just stick around.” Then, he turned serious once again, and reached out, hesitating for only a split second before he touched Zenyatta’s shoulder. “I do not know what we will find tomorrow when we head towards the monastery, but I am glad you are not alone to face it.”

“… I am, as well. Thank you, Genji.”

And despite the worry wrapped around his core, Genji’s soft, even breathing at his side helped lull Zenyatta into falling asleep, as the last of the fire faded into the sky.

***

Genji had remained by his side during the whole trip up the mountain, over familiar paths that had not changed since the last time Zenyatta had walked on them.

Zenyatta had not faltered, nor had he tried to walk slower –there was no reason to delay the inevitable, though he would lie if he said he’d not thought about it; the idea of seeing the only place he’d called home in ruins, just as the village was, left him feeling bitter.

He’d thought, once, that becoming a Shambali would include renouncing to all possessions, as they were unimportant in the face of the Iris and its teachings, but Mondatta had challenged that notion, quickly disabusing him of such belief; without enrichment, without little things to brighten a person’s life, one could not truly find the path to contentment. Even places were important, because they were proof of emotions and feelings, and having a place to call home, no matter where that could be, was precious, and not something one could easily throw away.

It had been a welcome, cherished lesson.

The Shambali monastery had been his safe haven, his home –the place he’d been welcomed to, allowed to become himself fully, and to know he would probably see it destroyed hurt… but he would not slow his pace.

He would face this truth.

By his side, Genji walked quietly, hovering perhaps too close, but Zenyatta could feel his worry like a cloud around his head, mixed with grief, and he felt soothed by his presence, not at all bothered by the closeness. He knew Genji was trying to offer him some comfort, and he would gladly take it, appreciating the gesture for what it was.

They might have met not that long before but Zenyatta found himself at ease around him, and the feeling, he hoped, was mutual. A soul as strong and bright as Genji was a joy to see, even in such circumstances, and that he was willing to stand by him was… heart–warming.

So used to the growing feeling of the Iris wrapping around him like a blanket of warmth, so open to it that Zenyatta was barely aware of anything else, it took him a few seconds to realise they had reached the top of the mountain path.

In front of them, silent and quiet, the monastery stretched out against the morning sky and the mountains surrounding it.

Zenyatta stopped walking, almost stumbling, forehead array faltering.

Genji walked past him and stopped, blinking as he looked between Zenyatta and the building, confusion flashing through his eyes before they grew wide.

The monastery was intact.

It stood against the stark blue sky, stones merging with the mountainside almost seamlessly, golden banners adorning its front, and golden flags stretching into the air, fluttering in the wind. There were statues of omnics suspended in mid-air over pillars of stone, folded in meditation to welcome wanderers into the monastery, and a path of stone leading to the open archways of the entrance.

Except…

Genji squinted, pushing the wrapping around his head closer to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun. something was not quite right. The building appeared unscathed, yes, but something did not feel…

The flags. Genji had brushed them off, expecting them to be swept by the strong winds of the mountain, but they were still, frozen in place and unmoving.

He blinked, and a soft golden glaze flickered past his vision.

“Zenyatta…?” he rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands. “What…?”

At his side, Zenyatta exhaled an artificial breath. His hands were shaking. “So, this is what they did…”

“What… who did what?” Genji squinted, once again staring at the monastery, catching the glaze right before he blinked. “Is that…”

“That,” Zenyatta interrupted, tone carefully even as he stepped forwards, advancing towards the edge of the wall surrounding the monastery, “is the Iris.”

It startled Genji enough that he stumbled on his feet, hurrying to follow, eyes darting from Zenyatta to the monastery and back. “Uhh…?”

Stopping again only inches away from the shimmering glaze, Zenyatta stretched one hand forwards, and as he’d expected, he felt something slither through thin air towards his fingers. The golden glaze reached for him, wrapping around his hand, then his wrist, welcoming him with warmth, familiar enough that he felt the ache burn inside his core. Then, slowly, the magic retreated, and air became still once more.

“My brother… at some point after I was lost, the monastery was attacked, as I thought. But my brother must have pleaded the Iris for help, and what you see here in front of you is the result, Genji. The monastery was saved, sealed away in a pocket of still time. Nothing can get through from either side, effectively cutting the monastery away from the world…” _‘just as I was’_, he added to himself.

“Wait, so the monks, your brother, they’re–”

“–hopefully safe, yes. Inside the monastery, time froze. They are within, alive and waiting. It is possible they were aware of the incoming attack, and perhaps some of the villagers were able to take refuge there as well.”

“That–” Genji shook his head, eyes wide and a smile stretching on his lips, “–that is amazing, Zenyatta!”

“… indeed.” The fear that had touched his core was soothed at the thought, and with the Iris so close, irradiating its power enough that Zenyatta could so easily lose himself in it, the remnants of his doubts faded. “Its concentrated power is forming a barrier that prevents anyone from entering.”

“How can you… undo this?”

He turned to look at Genji. “It will be an easy feat, truly. What is needed is a reassurance from outside that the danger has passed for the magic to unravel,” Genji smiled, reassured, but Zenyatta continued before he could say anything, “but I will not do it.”

“Wh– you’re not… not breaking… this?”

“I won’t.” Zenyatta folded both hands in front of him. “They are safe within this protection, where nothing can touch them, and they have been for a while now. The danger has not passed yet, Genji. Until I find my orbs, until I assess the situation and the potential danger from Talon, I do not wish to expose my brothers to it.”

Genji opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to relent, lips thin in a frown. “I understand,” he said, though he sounded a little sad. “It seems to be the best option but…”

“I am aware I am shouldering such decision without consulting with my brother,” Zenyatta admitted. For a moment, he sounded almost lost. “But even if it selfish to do so, I consider his safety a priority. He was perhaps sure I would come back to him, but I had been sealed away as well. He might have placed another failsafe in case I did not return, but so far, it has not been triggered. If I had remained trapped indefinitely, then…”

Genji hissed, understanding, and without hesitation he stepped forwards, pressing one hand on Zenyatta’s shoulder. The touch was startling, but the comfort seeping from such simple gesture warmed Zenyatta more than he could say. Then something seemed to occur to him. “If you get hurt while seeking your orbs, how will the monastery break free?”

Zenyatta glanced at the path leading towards the monastery, humming. “I–”

The answer was a sudden ripple in the air, the golden shimmer vibrating before forming what appeared to be a passage, walls made of air that were only visible because of the golden hue that flickered under the sun, showing them the way.

“It appears the Iris is guiding us,” Zenyatta murmured to himself.

He’d rarely seen such visible connection, the Iris working in subtler ways, and it only served to remark on the seriousness of their situation. The Iris had intervened in the Path, forcing it to open through Zenyatta’s body, and now it was offering him a connection, leading him forwards, and Zenyatta knew exactly where it would bring him.

“Has it done this before?” Genji seemed as surprised as he was, with a touch of wariness that was entirely understandable.

“No, it has not.”

“… fancy.” Genji did not seem to find the news promising.

“Genji.” He turned to look at him, waiting until Genji was staring back to continue. “I have been part of the Shambali for years, and they have shaped who I am, and what I do. The Iris has always been there for me, guiding my path. It is… surprising to see it surge so openly to aid me, but I do not fear this.”

Genji blinked, then nodded at him, his tense posture relaxing. “I have felt the Iris through you,” he stated, referring to Transcendence, and Zenyatta nodded. “I trust _you_.”

And that, just as much as the Iris had, sent a wave of warmth through Zenyatta’s circuits.

Zenyatta stepped forwards, walking past the entrance of the monastery gardens, and Genji followed him with no hesitation; both felt the magic surrounding them as they walked, but it was not an oppressive feeling –it was more like a soft, delicate touch, one that felt familiar and kind.

The garden was empty, and the path, as Zenyatta had suspected, led them through the outer area and towards the main building where the sanctum was. Neither spoke, lost in thought, but Zenyatta glanced back at Genji every now and then, and noticed the way he continued to look around himself, eyes wide in amazement, and felt a trickle of contentment at that –the monastery had always looked beautiful to him, and to find the same fascination in someone else’s eyes made Zenyatta feel at ease.

With the building so close, the fact that time had stilled appeared even more noticeable –the trees did not rustle, there was no breeze, but he felt no stillness in the air, as Genji could easily breathe. It was such an astounding display of the Iris’ powers that Zenyatta felt yet again grateful, knowing this magic was protecting his brothers from harm.

He still wondered why the Iris had reached out so directly to him, but he knew that the answers would come in time, hopefully.

The sanctum looked the same as it had always been –a wide hall with a drop in the middle, and a platform with a path connecting the two sides. If one were to look down the edge of the platform, they would see the machinery below, the construction the Shambali had erected with a mix of technology and magic, scattered jolts of blue energy flickering idly.

On the other side of the hall was a door that led to the outside gardens, and the buildings where the resting area and guest rooms were.

In this hall, the Iris’ presence was at its strongest –so thick even those who could not touch it on their own could feel its vibration on their skin or chassis.

“… not a soul could deny its existence, if they visited here,” Genji murmured, awe in his tone.

“You would be surprised,” Zenyatta answered mildly. “We have had many who accused us of creating false idols to fool the masses. Even here, disbelief can be stronger than truth.”

Genji snorted, glancing at him, and Zenyatta smiled through his forehead array.

“This is the sanctum,” Zenyatta explained, stepping down on the platform and standing there, right in the middle. “From here, I can track my mala through their connection with the Iris, allowing us to know the way. If you wish, you can wait there. It won’t be long.” He motioned for Genji to remain on the edge of the small staircase. Genji glanced down the side of the platform, eyes widening at the drop, and nodded, sitting down on the first step. “I had hoped we would be able to rest and converse with my brother about our… situation, but things have obviously changed. Resting here is not an option, so we will need to make this a brief stop instead. I hope you do not mind sleeping under the stars yet another night.”

“What matters is the company, and I think I’m lucky in that sense,” Genji grinned at him, and Zenyatta smiled back.

“I can say the same,” he said, humming to himself, and Genji swallowed. He could not miss the way Zenyatta had sounded pleased at that.

Latching to the Iris was easier from here, familiar like coming home after a long day, more intense, to the point it could have been painful if Zenyatta had allowed himself to linger on it.

Instead, he plunged his senses directly into the stream of the Iris’ power, feeling it surge to meet his request as readily as ever, wrapping around him in golden strands.

Surrounded by its presence, Zenyatta opened himself to it, allowing himself a moment to focus and collect himself. A glimpse of warmth answered his call, the brush of magic like a mother’s hand against his faceplate, soothing and caring.

He felt the golden light flow like water, burn like fire, flow like air and stand steady under him like rich soil, filling him to the brim and surging outwards, exploding from his body to surround him, and Zenyatta’s mind expanded, processes and synapses connecting to the magic.

The touch of the Iris welcomed him, a whisper of a voice he could not catch barely out of reach, and Zenyatta arched into it, flooded all of sudden by–

A flash, and images overtook his vision.

Meadows, a forest, a city, the fluttering of familiar mechanical wings, the sound of an amused laugh, and right after that, a glimpse of something enormous restricted within a cage, a net wrapped around it so tightly it was almost chocking –and then nine pings answering his call, surrounded by a protective barrier but responding to him nonetheless.

The connection snapped into place, a thread so thin he knew he would have to focus on it to keep it from breaking, but it was _there_.

He would follow it, and find his orbs again, and–

Startled, a piece of Zenyatta’s mind realised that the orbs were moving –not of their own accord, but they _were_ in motion.

He let go of the magic with reluctance, the soft embrace of the Iris leaving him slowly. He exhaled an artificial breath when the string connecting him to his mala wavered but survived, at the edge of his senses.

Turning around, he looked at Genji, wishing to share his success with his companion, and he found Genji staring at him with an intensity that surprised him, eyes unmoving and lips barely parted.

Genji looked _awed_, though the familiarity of Zenyatta’s Transcendence should have lessened that feeling, but being on the other end of such a sharp gaze… Zenyatta felt his fans spin just a little bit faster, a weird sort of anticipation filling his circuits when Genji did not look away, meeting his gaze without faltering.

“… Genji?”

Genji blinked, and just like that the spell broke, making him look away. The room was somewhat dark, with only frozen candles to light it up, but Zenyatta could almost swear he’d caught a flush on his cheeks.

The thought sent Zenyatta’s thoughts spiralling, and he forced himself back on track.

“I’m sorry,” Genji murmured, sounding embarrassed, shoulders hunched up to his ears. “I did not mean to stare.”

“That is… alright. I am aware the Iris is an astounding sight to witness.”

Genji murmured something under his breath that Zenyatta did not catch, and he tilted his head. “What is it, Genji?”

“Nothing!” sounding almost frantic, Genji cleared his throat. “So… did it work? You were… glowing…? For a while.”

Zenyatta chuckled at that, but having expected time to feel much shorter while accepting the power of the Iris within him he simply nodded. “I stretched my senses through the Iris, and connected with my mala, but…”

“… but?”

“I sense they are moving.” Zenyatta’s forehead array flickered in thought. “They feel… I would not say closer, per se, but it would be useless for us to chase them while they are being taken elsewhere.”

“That makes sense,” Genji frowned. “Anything else?”

Zenyatta hummed, thinking back about the familiar laugh, and the flutter of wings. “… I have the feeling that someone I know is… well. I would not say they could help, but they are involved, somehow. To which extent I do not know.”

“And you… saw all of this while…?”

“While ‘glowing’, yes.” Zenyatta’s tone could not hide the amusement, and Genji’s lips pursed in a small pout.

“You _were_ glowing.”

“That I was.”

“Just like a star,” Genji added, earnest, still flustered but unwilling to back down.

His comment did make Zenyatta hesitate, something akin to giddiness bubbling up inside his circuits. Genji’s honest, blunt comments seemed to always leave him feel almost winded. “A star, huh?”

“I said what I said,” Genji muttered, then hastily changed subjects. “Is that person someone we need to find?”

Zenyatta linked his fingers in front of himself, careful in his consideration before finally answering. “She is… an old acquaintance of mine. She has many names, but most people simply call her the Witch.”

Genji blinked. “Just… the witch?” he frowned. “That’s… vague.”

Zenyatta smiled at him, forehead array bright. “Yes, though she is anything but forgettable. And perhaps we will not need to find her… rather, she might be the one to find us, if we call for her.”

“Well then.” Genji straightened his back and slowly stood up, grinning at Zenyatta, and Zenyatta fought the urge to press one hand on his core at the sight of such mischievous smile. “We will just have to meet this acquaintance of yours, then.”


	7. Chapter 06

**Chapter 06**

There was no sound around them as they walked deeper into the forest, the sun peeking from the foliage above.

Zenyatta walked slowly down a path crudely carved through the underwood, unmindful of the leaves and branches brushing against his chassis as he went, and Genji followed him, grunting whenever a branch slapped him in the head or on his body.

The forest continued on and on, the slope gradual as they kept climbing, and though it was not steep Genji could still feel the strain as they walked, though he did not protest –the cool air and the light exercise made him feel good.

“Why are we walking this far from the monastery, if we only have to contact your acquaintance?”

Genji looked behind them; the monastery had long since disappeared behind a sea of tall trees, and one could not even see it in the distance now, the curve of the mountain hiding it from sight. They had been walking for hours already, making their way through the forest, and Genji was curious by now.

“We seek to attract her attention. If I was given sign of her presence, it means she is already on her way, and making contact will make her offer us a way to meet with her. And… unfortunately, the Witch dislikes the more, ah, benevolent warmth of the Iris. It interferes with her own brand of magic.”

That set off warning bells in Genji’s mind. “She’s…?”

“She does not use light magic, no.”

Spluttering, Genji rushed to get to Zenyatta’s side. “And you still think she would help us?”

“Genji.” Zenyatta stopped walking, tilting his head to look at him, and though he had no expression, Genji could almost feel the severity of that look. “There is no judgement given on magic itself, only on its use. Do you remember what I told you, after we first met?”

With a startled blink, Genji’s eyes widened. “Ah.”

“Yes. The Iris itself is power beyond a simple definition, and it can be used for corruption, not just healing. We choose it to heal, but just as well we could use it for different means. That would not make the magic itself bad –it would just make us very different people.”

“And the Witch…?”

“Her balance rests in the middle, with no distinction of method or belief.”

“That…” Genji swallowed, “does not reassure me much.”

Zenyatta hummed, tilting his head up to stare at the foliage above them. He did not move, so Genji waited as well, as patiently as he could.

“I know the doubts that plague you, Genji.” Zenyatta’s voice was not as light anymore, inflection a mix of heartfelt and pained. “Your senses are open to me, your emotions clear. You have tried to cling to a conviction on who you are, afraid of finding truths about yourself that could shake you, reveal a soul that doesn’t fit your hopes, your thoughts. You shy away from the dark because you fear it will be more enticing to you than your current path, and you still worry your past might not be pleasant once discovered again.”

Swallowing at the heavy feeling on his chest, the insight so accurate it almost hurt, Genji wished he could run, or deny Zenyatta’s words. Yet he could not. They were true.

“I know you said I should face who I was and not worry before then,” he admitted, “but the thoughts fester, and… I’ve wanted to keep away from what could be temptation, even subconsciously, until now.”

“And that is remarkable –at times, the dark arts can be attractive, alluring, and it is so easy to simply allow yourself to be captured. Yet… so is the light.” At Genji’s jolt, surprise flashing on his face, Zenyatta nodded. “One can become enamoured with wishing to do good, and it can come at the expense of others. A man could decide the greater good is worth more than the lives of a few, or even accept compromises that could harm others, as long as certain goals are met. Some chase a perfect standing without looking at the blood they have on their hands, and will never admit this makes them as dark as those who practice the opposite way.”

“So…?”

“So,” Zenyatta clapped his hands together, offering him a forehead array smile, “you carve your own moral compass, Genji, as you have been doing –but allowing yourself some more breathing space. Every choice has a consequence, but it does not mean you have to shy away from certain paths simply because they are less lit than others.”

Zenyatta’s words sounded right, and Genji felt something give in inside him, but at the same time, he’d lived this past year with those thoughts, those fears, and he knew it would take longer for him to truly appreciate the truth Zenyatta spoke about.

Still –he felt better, the constant of Zenyatta’s reassurance helping him.

“The Witch practices both dark and lighter arts, then?”

“The Witch is… morally grey, I could say –though she tends to favour herself, and her own goals. Her decision to shy away from lighter magic is due to many unpleasant experiences she had to face. By what I know, being used with no reward had her become a little harder, not wishing to bend to others’ whims, but… if she can, she will choose a path that causes the least harm… she is not heartless. Of course, she would vehemently disagree, if she were to hear me. She rather likes having a fearsome reputation.”

“Of course I’d disagree. I only accept deals if they benefit me, and hearing you speak in a way that is almost positive is _insulting_, Cultist.”

Genji froze, taken completely by surprise at the voice.

It was soft, and amused, and dry –and very girly. Not something he’d expected from… well. A witch.

His head snapped up, seeking the owner, and found her sitting on a branch of a tree not too far from where he and Zenyatta had stopped to talk, legs swinging, skirt flapping in the breeze.

The Witch was young, in a way that felt almost unnatural though, with blond hair and fair skin, and that gave Genji pause, as his mental image of her had been… radically different. She wore a pointy hat and a corset that accentuated her bosom, and he could see long brown thigh-highs peek from the flowy skirt, her shoes ending with a pointy curl.

“Witch,” Zenyatta greeted her, nodding, his voice bleeding amusement. “I only speak the truth.”

“You only speak _your_ truth, Cultist –not mine.”

“That you say, yet your actions have never proved me wrong.”

The Witch rolled her eyes, then tilted her head, eyeing Zenyatta and Genji, lips curled in a pleased smirk. “I was waiting for you,” she said –and Genji had the definite impression that she was speaking to him, specifically. “I was getting bored, so I decided to meet you halfway through.”

“We had no idea you were involved,” Zenyatta said, voice light. “The Iris led us to you.”

“The Iris, yes.” The Witch had… not quite a look of dislike, but one that spoke of something both inevitable and expected. “Always butting in, even in my deals. As if I’d go back to being a nice little angel, huh?”

“If you were to reconsider your stance, you would find a lot of open doors, Witch.”

“I do like where I am. I have fun, I meet new people… and sometimes,” she added, turning her full attention to Genji, “I meet them again.”

Genji felt a shiver run down his back, mouth suddenly dry. “We… we’ve met before?”

“Of course we did, darling. We made a deal, us two…” she twirled a coin in her fingers, letting it roll with practiced ease from thumb to pinkie finger, then snapped her wrist and the coin flashed and disappeared. “One you still need to complete, at that.”

Something urgent and heavy lodged itself in Genji’s chest, and he swallowed, feeling a bubbling sense of panic seep through his thoughts. “You’ve met me before? I do not remember you. Then–”

“Yes,” the Witch nodded, still smirking. “We met before you… lost your memories.”

“Then, you can tell me–”

“Say, Cultist,” the Witch turned towards Zenyatta, attention snapping away from Genji so quickly it felt like a switch had been flipped. “I’ve always thought your other form looked way better. Why did you pick this one?”

Despite Genji’s confusion and frantic, growing worry, Zenyatta seemed at ease with the Witch’s attitude. “We needed to be stealthy, Witch.”

“I would be… more cooperative, if you changed.”

“As usual,” Zenyatta sighed, though not unkindly. “As usual.”

Then, in a familiar way that had Genji step back to stare, Zenyatta’s frame lit up with magic, and his appearance changed. Genji thought he would turn back into his previous appearance, but it was soon obvious that was not the case. His metal shone a deep, otherworldly violet, and his mouthpiece seemed to shoot forwards and split into multiple parts, wriggling and twisting around. His core inched inwardly, turning from a soft yellow to an electric green, making it seem like Zenyatta was glowing from the inside.

Eyes wide, Genji watched as Zenyatta morphed into a different omnic, with a hood on his head –and the appearance of a creature from the deep.

Like this, he seemed… darker, dangerous –the total opposite of the kind appearance of Zenyatta’s real self, and Genji shivered, unable to stop himself from stiffening at the sight. He understood, now, Zenyatta’s words –this was still the same Zenyatta, but something within him had shifted, changed, and simply looking at him… oh, this was what Zenyatta had meant, with being able to take on lesser lit roads, he could feel it on his skin.

“Ah, that is so much better!” the Witch clapped her hands together, her giggly appreciation sounding unsuited to her profession, yet fitting for her appearance. “Far more interesting than that boring omnic shape you had before!”

Zenyatta rolled his eyes, tentacles wriggling around his mouth piece. “You’ve always had rather strange tastes, Witch.”

“Oh, now, you’re always such a charmer, but there’s something so nice about this form…” the Witch’s eyes crinkled happily, tone dropped an octave. “Much less kind. Much less… delicate.”

Genji felt something inside him bristle –Zenyatta’s true form was perfect as it was, and so was Zenyatta, in general– but he refrained from speaking when Zenyatta only chuckled, apparently not as bothered by her words as Genji himself was. “Will you talk with us, now?”

“Of course! But… not here. This area is not secure. If you continue walking in this direction, you will find a fairy ring. We will be protected there, so no one will listen in.”

With that, the Witch tapped the branch she was sitting on with one hand, and it changed shape, twisting and turning and snapping out of the tree in the form of a long, polished broom. “I shall be waiting~” she said, her voice chipper enough that it grated to Genji’s nerves, and with a casual hand wave, the broom lifted her way above the foliage of the trees, until she was out of sight.

“… that was…” shaking his head, Genji turned towards Zenyatta, taking in his appearance.

His voice was the same, his presence was the same, yet he seemed so different…

“She is quite the character, isn’t she?” Zenyatta sounded amused and pleased, and it only confirmed Genji’s thoughts on the matter. “I haven’t changed into this form in a while.”

The words reminded Genji of the Witch’s demand, and she felt something bubble inside him, something hot and unpleasant at the thought of the Witch so enamoured with Zenyatta’s weird form.

“Your other form is not bad,” he said, lips pulled into an upwards curl. “It’s cute. Just because she does not appreciate it, doesn’t mean it’s not perfect as it is.”

He was rewarded by Zenyatta’s shoulders jolting, the tentacles of his mouth piece stilling for a moment, but rather than feeling embarrassed about his words, Genji simply felt satisfied by the reaction.

“… thank you, Genji.” And there was just enough softness in his tone to make Genji feel like he’d said the right thing, somehow.

Then, he blinked. “She… sounded like she didn’t know your other… form… was your true one?”

Zenyatta tilted his head –and even with the wriggling tentacles, the intense eyes and the otherworldly green glow, he looked just the same as before. “Well, that is because she does not.”

“You seemed… friendly?” and even that word made Genji feel sour. “Close.” And that made him feel even worse.

Zenyatta chuckled, forehead array glowing underneath his cape.

“We’ve worked together once, I infiltrated a sect, and made sure I had the right allies to come out of it unscathed.” There was something there, in Zenyatta’s tone, that told Genji he might have liked to hear that tale, but perhaps not today. “But… I would not trust her with that knowledge.”

Genji blinked, and felt a flutter inside his chest. “But… you told me…?”

Zenyatta linked his fingers together in front of him, and cleared his synth. “That I did, yes.” He sounded… not embarrassed, but… flustered, perhaps. “We should move, Genji, if we wish to reach the fairy ring before sunset. It is not wise to approach such a place at dusk or night.”

Feeling warmth spread inside him, Genji swallowed and watched Zenyatta start walking again, and after a couple seconds, he followed him, footsteps light and a spring to his feet.

***

The fairy ring they found was rather large, enough that both Zenyatta and Genji could step in it comfortably without bumping into each other.

Zenyatta hesitated on the edge of it, his optical receptors –Genji had thought he’d gained cybernetic eye implants, but he’d had enough time to look at Zenyatta’s faceplate to realise they were not– glancing down at the unassuming circle of mushrooms, but Genji stepped through without care.

He’d never really thought much about the supernatural –or well, the kind of supernatural that fairy rings implied. Werewolves, dragons, phoenixes… those were normal. He’d met some of those in the past year, but… faeries?

That was something even Genji had trouble believing, so he saw no fault in stepping through.

Zenyatta sighed. “That was… risky, Genji.”

“Why?” turning around to look at Zenyatta, Genji’s eyes widened.

There was something surrounding him –like a halo, of a light teal colour, concentrated the most in the area of his core.

“Because fairy rings have specific properties that you should consider before blindly stepping into one –even when prompted by a possible ally.”

“… what am I seeing?”

“Energy,” Zenyatta replied with a smile. His tentacles wriggled around. “You have stepped through a rip that the Witch prepared for us. We will need to come through the same way to return, so make sure to remember the way, Genji.”

Blinking to dispel the weird overlay that seemed to surround Zenyatta’s frame, Genji shrugged. “I don’t think we’d get lost in here.”

“… so you say, Genji. So you say.”

With these cryptic words, Zenyatta finally joined him inside the fairy ring, stepping inside and then exiting it.

“Wait, shouldn’t we stay here–?” Genji blinked again as the halo surrounding Zenyatta seemed to grow stronger, almost blurring his sight. To avoid looking at him, he glanced down at his own hands and was startled to notice a similar halo around himself as well, though muted and almost faded away. “She said–”

“We already are,” Zenyatta told him. “Look.”

Prompted by Zenyatta’s voice, Genji looked up, and again, realised the forest seemed… different.

The colours were… not muted, per se, but they had shifted, somehow, duller while still looking just the same. As Genji glanced around from tree to bush to flower, he noticed that the terrain was flat now, no more mountainous, and on the side… what appeared to his eyes as a rosy mist leading through the bushes on his left.

“Ah,” he said, recognizing what it was. “She is leading us that way.”

As they walked, Genji continued to look behind, until the fairy ring disappeared behind the vegetation and all that was left to him was to follow the weird transparent mist.

They did not have to go too far –soon enough, they happened upon a small meadow, surrounded by tall trees and by a circle of yellow and white flowers. A golden rope was tied to the bark of the trees, going all the way through the entire meadow and forming a circle.

The Witch was standing near the end of the rope, and as they moved closer, she untied one end to allow them to pass through, then closed it behind them.

“You have made sure we could not be interrupted,” Zenyatta murmured.

To Genji’s eyes he seemed tense, tone bleeding with worry.

Instantly, he felt himself grow just as worried, if only because he’d come to trust Zenyatta’s senses more than his own.

“You have made dangerous enemies,” the Witch said, but her voice was more amused than serious. “And I know you’ll get out from here just fine~ so you should not worry and just sit down!”

As Genji had expected, the rosy mist surrounded the Witch, and he squinted at the rope that bound the circle around them, noticing speckles of the same colour glittering as he blinked. Zenyatta stepped forwards, and his own aura seemed to grow thicker, more stable; with a look at his hand, Genji could see no change in his own, but he followed Zenyatta further into the meadow, sitting down when prompted on what appeared to be a comfortable mantle spread down on the grass.

The Witch sat down in front of them on what appeared to be a luscious cushion, legs curled on the side.

“This is truly the only safe place,” she told them with no warning. Her lips thinned into a displeased pout. “I have seen the kind of power the members have amassed, and I do not like it. If they chose to search for me, I would have no other choice but to hide.”

“Why here?”

“They have started to collect… well, let’s just say they are seeking items of power.” The Witch tapped the broom she still held in her hands, and that changed shape, turning into what appeared to be a staff. She pointed it at Zenyatta. “I take it your mala have ended in their hands as well?”

“Unfortunately. But they do not know they are but a tool at my disposal, rather than the source of the power I harness.”

“That is a point in your favour, and one that might make them stumble.”

Genji looked from one to the other, a frown on his face, but before he could open his mouth to ask, Zenyatta turned to look at him, one hand tapping his wrist. “No names shall be spoken here, for it is not safe. It attracts… attention.”

“… ah.” Genji hunched his shoulders, eyes darting around, but he could see nor feel anything different in their surroundings, except a weird, dull silence. Uncomfortable, he tried to focus back on their discussion.

Zenyatta hummed. “Why did they attack my friend?”

The Witch rolled her eyes. “He had something they wanted.” The _‘obviously’_ was implied by her tone.

“Why did _I_ come to you?” Genji leaned forwards, hands clenched into fists on his thighs. “What did I want?”

“To make a deal with me, so that they would not get it.”

Feeling a jolt of annoyance, Genji leaned back, glaring at the Witch. They were going nowhere with this, and she did not seem forthcoming with her answers, and yet…

“You said I still need to pay my side of the deal,” he said then, grinding his teeth. “How can I do so, if I don’t know the deal to begin with?”

“That was part of the deal,” the Witch answered, looking calm enough that Genji felt another spike of anger.

“But–”

“To share the details of the deal would breach the contract we made then,” the Witch shook her head. “There is no help I can offer to guide you… and you already have someone by your side, regardless.” She sent Zenyatta a smirk, looking almost teasing. “Suffice to say, I already completed my side of the deal, but…” she tapped her lips with a finger, “you _did_ receive your name elsewhere.”

Zenyatta hummed. “He saved me once, and giving his name back to him was my payment.”

“Well then! This won’t help you much –but it’s a start.” The Witch leaned forwards, clapping her hands together, eyes focused and sharp. “The memories you seek are not lost. Those were your payment –and not to me.”

Startled at that, Genji almost reached out to her, stopping himself in time. “W-what?”

“You came to me for a chance –and that was all I was able to offer. Not a hundred percent chance of success, either… that was impossible for me to promise you. But I did give you a fifty percent chance. In exchange, based on the outcome, I was allowed a choice for my own reward.”

“I… what did I…” thoughts reeling, Genji looked down, eyes wide.

The Witch had said her own side of the deal had been completed, so…

“What was the outcome of his chance?” Zenyatta’s hand on his shoulder helped, but Genji felt weirdly detached.

“He succeeded,” the Witch answered, as if that explained anything. “At least for now.”

Genji swallowed thickly. He wanted to know, but at the same time, he felt jittery, like he knew the answer would change everything. “What would have happened had the chance not been in my favour then?”

The Witch smiled at him, and Genji felt chilled to the bone. “If the outcome had been against you, and you had ended losing, you would not be here to speak with me.”

It was Zenyatta who asked the next question, startling Genji enough that he snapped his head around to look at him. “What would your payment have been, in that case?”

“Why,” the Witch’s smile grew a little, “I would have been allowed to harvest his body, of course.” Then, she tapped a finger to her lips once again. “Mind you, that could still happen –if you face them unprepared and die, that will be my payment, as agreed.”

To know that Genji had agreed to such payment…

“I did not know you had touched such dangerous waters,” Zenyatta said, and his tone had shifted to something darker, on edge.

“It is as it is,” there was nothing in her face for them to read, her stance relaxed, the grin still on her lips, and Genji knew then that whatever deal he’d made with her had been needed.

Maybe Zenyatta thought harvesting from a body was out of bounds –and certainly, considering Genji’s stance on dark magic, he felt the same, but there was something new here, and Genji had just learned of it.

He had agreed to this.

He was the one who’d made a deal with the Witch –the person he had been before. And as he trusted Zenyatta’s words about magic and its uses, and about the Witch and her own stance, Genji chose to trust himself –both the Genji of now, and the Genji from before.

If he had asked the Witch a favour and the payment could have been his body, then Genji had known he would die either way. What happened to his body, afterwards, was not as important as surviving.

“To make a deal to increase my chances… it must have been a lost cause, before I met you,” he murmured, still in shock.

“If you had not, you would have died for sure. Your chances were none… so our deal was your only choice, in a way… but not one I initiated.” There was no kindness to the Witch’s tone… but no harshness either. She was just stating a fact. “But there _is_ something I can give you.”

He looked at her, not expecting much, but her next words surprised him.

“Your memories are not gone –they are simply misplaced.”

Both he and Zenyatta froze.

“When you face them –you will have to find what is yours among their treasure. Without that, you will stand no chance to win –and I will be waiting to harvest what is left of your body, then.” She glanced at Zenyatta, and smiled a little, but there was no glee in her expression. “So find what they took, and the chances will be reset once again.”

Blinking harshly, hope uncoiling from within him like a plant finally finding the sun again, Genji swallowed, cleared his throat and spoke, his voice dry. “Why are you telling me this? If you’d benefit either way of both outcomes, then… why?”

Something shifted in the Witch’s eyes –fleeting as it was, Genji did catch it, for one moment.

“It is true,” she said, and her voice went back to her unflippant tone. “I just have more to gain if you succeed. Not to mention, it will deal a blow to them, and make them retreat… for a while. It is a kind of threat that would impede my own existence, and they have sought my own power. Attacking them would unveil what they have been building for years now, started not with his mala,” she pointed at Zenyatta, “but even before that.”

Zenyatta’s shoulders jolted, and his forehead array and core both dimmed so abruptly Genji’s attention snapped to him, fear lashing through his body. “Ze–” he hastily silenced himself with one hand, swallowing Zenyatta’s name before it could be voiced. “What’s wrong?”

“They are seeking artefacts of power,” he murmured, tone unsteady. “And they have collected my orbs, thinking they would be a tool.”

“Yes.” The Witch’s lips thinned in a wry grin.

“They are seeking other powers,” he continued. “But they have attacked the monastery, in hopes of gaining knowledge on how to use the orbs… but the monastery froze in time.”

The Witch snorted. “I am aware of that.”

“Their continuous seeking my brothers out, and now…” Zenyatta’s optical receptors seemed to narrow, and the dull colour of his core and forehead array exploded brightly, making him appear furious, the aura around him rekindling with it. “Before we sought you, I felt… my orbs were _moving_.”

This time, the Witch did not speak, and simply nodded.

“They are coming here.” Zenyatta’s synth crackled with this whisper, the truth of the situation burning through him.

“Wait, what–?” Genji’s head snapped back to Zenyatta, eyes wide.

“They wish to harness the power of the Iris,” Zenyatta said, speaking more to himself than to Genji. “I have mentioned that to you once, I believe. They have attempted to seek out contact with me and my brothers for a long time, only to be rebuked every single time. After they trapped me and stole my orbs, they could find no use in them, and sought the monastery, but… my brother made sure they would not be able to reach them, and sealed the Iris away. I thought this would have been enough to keep them away, but…” Zenyatta slowly turned to look at Genji, eyes meeting optical receptors. “… what if that was not true?”

And then, Genji finally understood.

“You think Ta–they decided to seek a different way to control the Iris?” Genji looked down at himself, stunned. “What kind of power could I possess that would allow them to trap a God?”

His answer was a mere headshaking, though the Witch regarded them with a knowing look, as she knew –of course she did– who Genji was, who he had been before.

“If they are coming here… if the orbs are being taken here, do you think they were keeping the monastery under watch?”

Zenyatta nodded.

Genji felt a spike of anticipation spread through his body, warming it up. “If they are bringing with them your orbs… perhaps they might have…”

“It is possible,” the Witch interjected. “The object you seek would be in their hands, together with the rest, to be used when the time is right.”

“What time?” but then Genji shook his head. “Are they not coming for us, then?”

“We did not feel anything, nor anyone, while we approached the monastery. It is possible they left behind a magical failsafe to alert them of any change… then they would not know we are here, but they would know something happened to the area.”

“If they think the monastery has been unsealed and they are carrying the orbs, then their plan is…” Genji’s eyes narrowed, urgency bleeding out of him slowly “they wish to capture the Iris…?”

Genji was looking at Zenyatta, and saw his aura contract and waver, and then it bled darker, like something liquid was turning his teal into black. Genji shuddered, hands clasping down on his pants to prevent them from shaking.

“Then it seems that the confrontation we meant to seek out will find us instead –and sooner than we thought.” Zenyatta sounded cold, calculating, and for one moment, as Genji looked at him, he could understand how he’d posed off as a Cultist, with this particular appearance. There was something ruthless and intense there, in the way his optical receptors and core burned green, the overlay of darkened aura only making him more indistinct to Genji’s eyes. “We need to prepare.”

The Witch nodded. “You cannot possibly expect to win all by yourself?”

“I do not wish to make a deal with you.”

“That is not what I meant.” Something like annoyance passed through the Witch’s face. “You do not have your weapons, and you face an enemy who has gathered enough power to destroy you with ease. What do you think you will do?”

Zenyatta slowly looked at her, and much to Genji’s surprise, the Witch shivered and flinched back as something wrapped around Zenyatta’s chest protectively, purple bleeding into his darkened aura –not taking over completely, but merging with it.

“I am not alone,” Zenyatta murmured, and then lifted both hands.

The purple that had marred his aura coalesced into his open palms, and Genji felt a heavy pressure against his brain, the sudden desire to give up and fall on the ground, anguish filling every inch of his mind until he felt like nothing would ever go right again, and–

Something snapped, and the purple orbs disappeared just as quickly as they had formed.

Genji took a shaky, sudden breath and exhaled through his gritted teeth, thoughts coming back to him in a rush.

What had–

“So you will protect your family by using what they always feared?” the Witch scoffed. “Will they take you back, then?”

“It is of no importance.” Zenyatta’s shoulders slumped even as he said that, and it was obvious he was lying. “Yet you are mistaken –we have never feared the Iris’ mirrored image.”

The Witch’s eyes narrowed, and Genji moved his eyes from one to the other, confused and tense.

“Then… what?”

“We were afraid of falling too deep,” Zenyatta murmured, and his aura darkened further. “But the Iris is with me, and has guided my way back home –I will do as I always have done, and become its tool. Be it of healing or…”

“… destruction.” Somber but calm, the Witch nodded. “I have no deal to make with Gods.”

Zenyatta nodded back, and then his posture shifted. To Genji, it felt like the air around him had taken a deep breath all of sudden, because he felt a weight on his chest lessen instantly, and the dark aura around Zenyatta lightened, the purple and dark drained away to reveal the same light teal as before.

“We need to go.” Zenyatta’s tone had changed once again, and he turned to look at Genji. “We have stayed inside the fairy ring far too long, and time has a different meaning, inside here. If they are coming, we must be prepared –and rested.”

Shaken out of his shock, Genji rose to his feet. “Zen–” he stopped himself, and swallowed. He’d almost slipped again, but he felt unsteady now, dizzy.

A hand fell on his shoulder, steadying him.

“Forgive me, my dear,” Zenyatta murmured, and even with his changed appearance, he seemed almost contrite. “I did not mean for Discord to harm you so much –but within this place, magic is stronger, and my powers worsened its natural corrosive powers, as well. I had not meant to bring you so much disquiet.”

Shaking his head, though the weird haze did not leave him, Genji placed one hand on top of Zenyatta’s. Under his touch the metal was warm, and familiar, and welcome.

“No,” he replied in the same tone, “I understand. There is nothing to forgive.”

Zenyatta did not seem convinced, his forehead array dimmer, but nodded and decided to change the subject. “Will you open a path for us?”

It took Genji a second to realise Zenyatta was not speaking to him, but to the Witch, who was already on her feet and to the edge of the meadow, one hand on top of the golden rope. When had she–

“Be quick on your way out,” she told the two, even as she untied the knot on the rope, “it would be disappointing to see you lose yourselves here… a waste, I’d say.”

Zenyatta snorted, and stepped through the meadow, Genji hesitantly following him.

The forest was unchanged, but Genji’s mind seemed to narrow when he realised he did not remember from which direction they’d come from. There was no path, no pink aura to lead them through, and he felt chilled at the realisation.

“Z–” he swallowed down Zenyatta’s name. “I don’t…”

“I did tell you, it is not easy to find our way back,” Zenyatta did not let him go, his hand a steady anchor as Genji’s mind became more confused now that they were outside of the rope circle. “Fortunately for us, I am familiar with the tricks used by this place. Please, do not wander away from me.”

He started to walk, not exactly slow but not rushing either, and Genji was grateful because he was suddenly having trouble walking.

Sitting in the circle, he had not noticed, but now he felt lightheaded, with a thrumming headache slowly building in the back of his head, aching the way it did during the one time he drank himself under the table, only a month and a half after waking up with no memories.

This feeling –it felt similar to being drunk, thoughts waddling through with ease, but unable to focus on something in particular, and he felt light on his feet, the weight of worry and anger strangely absent.

It felt eerie to him to feel so unburdened, but Genji could not grasp exactly why.

Zenyatta’s back moved further away, and Genji tried to hurry up, the edges of the forest blurring away, but he felt like he was making no progress, and when he tried to call out for Zenyatta to wait, he hastily bit down on his tongue to prevent his name from slipping out of his lips.

No. It was dangerous. But why…

And then, Zenyatta’s hand held his wrist, and some of the haze left Genji’s mind at the cool touch of metal.

He blinked. Zenyatta wasn’t that far ahead, and had stopped to wait for him.

“It is fortunate,” Zenyatta told him with a forehead array smile, “that I am an omnic who can use magic. Places like this have no hold on me.”

Oh.

Mind clearer than it had been earlier, Genji realised it had to do with the metal of Zenyatta’s chassis, that protected him from the touch of magic.

He shuddered to think what would have happened to them, had Zenyatta been human –though Genji, even with his thoughts straying, could not help himself but scoff at the idea. Zenyatta was perfect the way he was, with his round, kind faceplate and gentle voice that made Genji’s heart race.

He did not notice when Zenyatta’s grip on his wrist loosened, or when his hand trailed down so Genji could clasp his own around it, holding tightly on Zenyatta’s metallic fingers, keeping the dizziness at bay, but he found his eyes falling on this connection between them as Zenyatta led them with sure steps through the spinning forest, his frame the only stable thing as the magic surrounding them tried to hold them back.

When they finally arrived to the edge of the fairy ring the Witch had created for them and stepped through, Genji felt magic wash over him and suddenly the forest became sharp once again, and his mind cleared out, the feeling not unlike that of waking abruptly after almost dozing off.

“Are you alright, Genji?” Zenyatta turned to look at him, tentacles wriggling and optical receptors bright, and Genji saw, behind the appearance, Zenyatta’s warm care directed his way, and swallowed.

He had missed Zenyatta calling him by his name.

“I am.”

Glancing down at their hands still joined, even now outside of the fairy ring, he found himself unwilling to let it go.


	8. Chapter 07

**Chapter 07**

After the time he’d spent inside the fairy ring, the forest around Genji felt far too sharp.

His senses almost seemed heightened, and the sounds around him had him consider covering his ears, though he resisted the urge.

The trees looked even greener, the sound of the wind on the leaves was loud enough to be uncomfortable, and Genji’s body felt almost constricting, like he’d tried on a glove too tight for his hand.

Together with it, came a strong dizziness, like he’d been somehow misplaced, like he was meant to know about this but did not. The feeling persisted, enough that he had to close his eyes for a moment.

It helped, and when he opened them again, the vertigo had left.

Standing in front of him, Zenyatta was looking at him, and then gently let go of his hand –but before Genji could miss the contact, Zenyatta stepped forwards and placed both of his hands on Genji’s cheeks, cradling him closer, just like he’d done once before, when he’d returned to him his name.

Genji’s breath was stolen away by the gesture, by Zenyatta’s forehead pressed against his own, a longing burning its way through his chest, but he could not voice it, words lost as he looked in Zenyatta’s optical receptors and felt his care on his skin like a physical caress.

“It is expected to feel a little unsteady. Our trip through the fairy ring would be enough to make even the strongest man waver, yet you hold yourself together admirably, Genji.”

Genji wondered distantly if the pride he heard was just wishful thinking, but trapped as he was by Zenyatta’s warm hands, he could not even shake his head.

The tentacles on Zenyatta’s mouthpiece wriggled so close to him he could feel them almost brush against his lips –and that made it almost impossible to focus on anything else except Zenyatta’s closeness.

Before he could make a fool of himself and say something that would embarrass him, like how he wished Zenyatta would not let go of him, he felt a trickle of the familiar, golden light glow at the sides of his face, seeping into the skin of his cheeks through Zenyatta’s palms.

The golden Harmony was like a balm, and Genji exhaled softly, appreciating the gesture. All of sudden exhaustion washed over him, leaving him cold and hungry –even if they couldn’t have been inside that world for longer than an hour or two at most.

“I’ve never… felt things like that. Seeing things–” Genji’s voice was quiet, as if by speaking he was afraid Zenyatta would move away, take the warmth with him. “The… aura? You had around you, it was…”

“You had one, as well.” There was something steely in Zenyatta’s tone that reminded Genji of his words to the Witch, the promise to use the darker side of the Iris against Talon. “That only supports my idea that Talon stole from you something deeper than what we thought. And… at least now we know it was not your memories. Those were willingly given.”

Swallowing at the reminder, Genji felt a prickle of agitation. “How am I supposed to find something if I do not even know what that is? How am I supposed to face Talon by your side, if I have no chance unless I find that something?”

“If it is something that belonged to you, there might still be a connection that will guide you,” Zenyatta hummed, sounding deep in thought. “Unfortunately, we might have less time than you think.”

And just like that, the moment of peace shattered. Zenyatta moved away.

“The Witch was right. I can feel the orbs even closer. They are travelling here.”

“But… we should still have time.” Something inside Genji twisted in worry –not for himself, for while he knew his chance of success hinged on whatever the Witch had told him to fine, Genji had faith in his abilities to fight… but for Zenyatta. “Even if they use the Pathways, they would still find the one closest to the monastery destroyed, and it would take them time to reach us nonetheless.”

Zenyatta hummed deep in his synth. “Unfortunately, you are… mistaken. We have spent a lot of time within the Fairy ring, possibly more than we could afford. Yet, we have gained intel, and we avoided leaving the monastery only to have to return, possibly too late to catch Talon where we can set a trap.”

“We… only lost a few hours… did we?” but Genji felt in his guts that his words were wrong as he spoke them. His hunger, the confusion he felt, the exhaustion… the magic of the world past the ring had taken energy from him, just like the Pathway had. “No. How long, Zenyatta?”

“It is difficult to say. My own sense of time has been misaligned due to the sealing, and I have yet to know how long I have spent trapped in that basement, but based on my previous interactions with that plane of existence, my best estimate would be no less than a couple of days.”

Genji nodded, but rather than feeling tense or wary, a weird calm seeped into him, and he took a deep breath.

He had confronted many opponents to find his memories back, and now he finally had the chance to face the true culprit, and perhaps find what he was missing at the same time.

And of course, he was not alone –he had Zenyatta by his side.

Somehow, the thought made him feel both better and worse –he had come to trust him in the little time they’d known one another, and he knew, even without having experienced it on his own skin, that Zenyatta was capable enough to fight by his side… but he also was worried, because in that little time, his own feelings for this omnic monk had grown past what casual companionship was. Past comradery, or even friendship.

It had been easy, startingly so.

And that made Genji worry, even if he knew he did not need to. And yet…

“Zenyatta…?”

“Yes, Genji?”

He hesitated, then swallowed, his throat dry. “Do you… regret this?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You could have gone your way, rather than stick with me. Your orbs could be replaced, made anew. You could have freed your brothers and sisters, and then… moved somewhere else. Somewhere safe.”

“It is not good to worry about the what-ifs, Genji –falling in a spiral of hesitation will only tie you down. I could have done many things, even before being sealed. I could have accepted Talon’s offer, or I could have been sealed forever. But this is the path I have decided to walk and it is parallel to yours –for as long as we wish it to.”

Genji opened his mouth, the knot in his throat tightening. “Yes,” was all he could say, and he winced, embarrassed at his lack of eloquence. Again, he hesitated. “Zenyatta…?”

“Yes, Genji?” there was something softer to the way he said his name, amused, indulgent.

The idea of walking away from him, to not hear his name spoken by Zenyatta’s synth in such a way, made Genji _ache_.

“Afterwards…” he croaked, cleared his throat and stared into Zenyatta’s optical receptors. “Afterwards,” he started again, “I would like to tell you something, if you agree.”

“My,” Zenyatta placed one hand on his wriggling mouthpiece, tilting his head in such a way that it seemed to Genji as if he was parodying surprise. “Already making plans for the victory party, I see.”

The ridiculousness of Zenyatta’s statement startled a snort from Genji, and he shook his head. “What can I say,” he replied in kind, the tension he’d felt until then easing, “I do not like to leave my days empty.”

“Indeed.”

Shaking his head, Genji slumped down on the grass. “How long until they are here?”

Zenyatta sat down in front of him, looking untouched by worry and fatigue, but Genji could hear in the silence the sound of fans spinning hard, and that was enough to tell him Zenyatta was tired, just like him.

“Even using the Pathways, they do not have on their side the will of the Iris… so they will need to create a new entrance. That will take them time, and it will mean they might set base within the Pathways.”

As he spoke, Zenyatta removed from the bag around his waist some provisions, handing them to Genji, who bit into them with relish, barely tasting the food before he swallowed it down –annoyed when they barely did anything for the deep-seated hunger he felt.

“Would that not drain them?” he asked, wiping his lips and reaching out for the water he kept on him.

“There are… ways to circumvent that, lessen the load of magic that is required for the passage. Yet, such methods make the magic of the Pathways adverse to those using them. If Talon expects trouble, they might come with a small army, and that is extremely risky, considering the payment required. They would need multiple strong magic users to shoulder the weight, making them less useful once out, or they will pay through magical objects –but magic given this way is weaker, and does not align with the Pathways.”

“Still, it would be two against many skilled enemies.”

“That is why we need to level the field accordingly, Genji.”

Genji thought about Zenyatta’s purple energy, that had sucked out of him all happy thoughts. He wondered if it would be enough, against many opponents. Part of him was worried it would, and what that would mean for Zenyatta. “Do you already have an idea?”

Zenyatta hummed softly, tapping his fingers against his thigh. “I just might,” he finally murmured. “But for now, we need to rest. Nothing will be done if we cannot stand up and face Talon.”

With a sigh, Genji nodded and stood up again, making quick work of collecting enough dry wood to set up a camp. Zenyatta watched him with amusement, optical receptors following his every move, and he seemed particularly taken by the way Genji lit the fire afterwards, fingers expertly working with his fire striker until a flame sizzled from the pile of wood.

It was not sunset yet, but with how tired both of them were, he knew it would matter little, and more rest meant having a head start on Talon.

Settling down to sleep, Genji curled up on one side, eyes facing the darkness of the forest around them.

The Fairy ring had been there when they’d toppled out, but now it was gone, the grass where it had been only a fraction more dull in colour than the rest of the meadow, and Genji’s eyes returned to it more than once, attracted by idle curiosity.

How had the Witch gained the power to create connections between the two worlds? It seemed like something that would require… not just magic, but the benevolent acceptance of those from the other side.

Or perhaps just a well-placed deal, considering the Witch.

He did not remember meeting her, and she had appeared self-serving in her desires to gain something through deals, but Zenyatta had been right, in the end –there was something about her that felt raw, and her decision to aid them, offering Genji information and waving it off…

She was not evil, not like Genji had thought.

Creepy, perhaps, and dangerous… but not evil. And that was alright.

Genji was startled out of his thoughts when Zenyatta sit down on the grass at his side, then shuffled until their backs were against one another, the contact surprising enough he glanced up, though he could only see the back of Zenyatta’s head.

“I–”

“Is this alright, Genji?”

He swallowed down his question, feeling a spark of hope burn quietly inside his chest, and returned his focus on the silent forest around them.

“Yes.”

“Alright. Goodnight, Genji.”

“Goodnight, Zenyatta.”

With the weight behind his back and the lights of the fire casting dancing shadows around him, Genji fell into a dreamless sleep, and soon afterwards, Zenyatta followed suit.

***

Being close to the monastery seemed to have a positive effect on Zenyatta, Genji noticed.

Maybe it was because of the Iris’ presence, calming and warm and almost tangible, or perhaps it was simply due to the familiarity of a place Zenyatta called home, and the fact that it was safe and his brothers protected… Genji had no idea, but watching Zenyatta walk through empty corridors with determination had Genji himself feel at ease.

The Cultist appearance had once again melted away, and Zenyatta had reverted back to his soft, unassuming self –somehow, Genji found the idea of that imposing, tentacled version of Zenyatta walking through the monastery almost _wrong_, even though he knew he was still Zenyatta.

“I did not think you would wish to return inside here again, not until the danger Talon poses is gone,” he admitted. “What is it that you plan?”

“Before leaving the monastery, I had a project I was working on,” Zenyatta answered, tilting his head towards him. “My mala are connected to me not simply through the Iris, but also through more… mechanical means. I have seen your reaction to Discord yesterday, and I do not wish for you to feel that again, not when the enemy is someone else.”

“Ah.” Genji scratched his cheek, somewhat embarrassed. “So it is not something that can be… controlled?”

“I can control it, but there is difference between having tools at my disposal to direct such power on someone and having to broadcast them with little finesse, Genji.”

That, he could understand.

“How do you plan to keep me untouched by your… darker powers, then?”

Zenyatta stopped, turning around fully to look at him. “I cannot promise you a fix that would protect you completely, Genji, and for that I am sorry… but I do have an idea.”

They’d paused in front of an unassuming door, and Zenyatta pushed it open to reveal a small, scarcely furnished room with a makeshift cot with brown and red covers, a table and some scattered shelves full of trinkets and little things.

It took Genji only a fraction of a second to realise that this was Zenyatta’s room at the monastery, and then he stepped into the room, awe and curiosity swirling together as his eyes roamed around, taking in every detail.

He had expected Zenyatta’s room to be bare, probably assuming that being a monk would make it hard for him to pile together things, but he’d been wrong –there was little furniture, but the shelves were full of little things, mementos of his travels and perhaps gifts from others.

There were feathers and cleaned fangs, and even what appeared to be a long, polished bone with indentations in it, there were photos and portraits and pictures in charcoal or paint, there were little animal figurines, obviously hand-carved into wood or stone, and even what appeared to be an attempt at an omnic doll made of tin and silicon, black and green and alien looking, though still with enough likeness to Zenyatta’s frame to make Genji believe this was yet another one of his ‘disguises’.

There was a scroll written in a language Genji recognised but could not speak, and on the wall, a scroll painting depicting a colourful group of figures walking, with a monkey in front holding a wooden stick, and decorated with flowers and leaves and golden peaches in the corners.

And of course, Genji had expected it, books piled up on the table, and on shelves, and some on the bed, colourful spines and covers, some looking new, some well-worn.

As he stood in the middle of the room, eyes wide to take in every little detail, Genji felt something slot in place inside him, a mix of longing and warmth and desire all wrapped tightly in his chest.

“It… looks like you never left,” he murmured, taken by the sight. “How long were you travelling, before being caught?”

“It has been… for me, it was only months since I’ve left,” Zenyatta admitted, but there was amusement in his tone. “I would not think you’d be this interested in my room, Genji.”

“I’m interested in its owner,” Genji murmured, not really paying attention, eyes locked on a small miniature of a vessel with sails made of silk. “This place… it feels like you do.”

Zenyatta’s fans kicked in, warmth filling his circuits. “And how do I feel, Genji?”

“Warm,” he answered, and he finally turned to look at him, eyes sharp and open and burning. “Homely.”

Shoulders jolting, Zenyatta turned around to hide the way his forehead array was flickering in embarrassment and pleasure at the compliment, moving to the cupboard and tugging a drawer open.

Genji watched him, the burning inside his chest growing a little bit stronger.

“Here, Genji,” when Zenyatta turned around again, he seemed to be calm again, offering something to him, and Genji peeked at what he was holding, only to find what appeared to be, at first sight, a small charm with a set of beads intertwined with a silver rope, but as Zenyatta gently placed it into Genji’s hands, he realised his estimation had been wrong.

It was a lucky charm, yes, but it was not made of beads and rope –it was made of exposed wires, chips and what appeared to be a set of small crystals, with a bigger one at the end and smaller ones placed intermittently among the silver wires.

Even as he realised this, Genji couldn’t help but think it was pretty. “What is this?”

“This is what I have been working on for months, before I had to leave the monastery. It started as a personal project using the same materials that are inside my mala. The same metal, the same wires, the same crystals, cut in the same way, but smaller.”

Genji observed the little charm with wide eyes, watching the way the wires were tightly wrapped around the crystals, passing through them, the light coming from the window making it sparkle like a small rainbow.

“I admit, the shape was my personal choice, but the disposition of the crystals isn’t random at all.” Zenyatta offered him a forehead array smile. “It is meant to replicate the way my mala absorb and direct the omnic energy and the energy of the Iris, retaining it and incapsulating it for a small period of time.”

“That… that sounds amazing. So it can be used? But it is small, how much energy can be stored like this?”

“Not much, but its purpose is not to unleash an attack –its primary use is to heal minor wounds, but I realised we can repurpose it before Talon arrives, to keep you safe.”

Genji’s hand curled around the little charm. “In what way?”

“I will store some of the golden glow of the Iris within this charm, and if you keep it on yourself, possibly close to the head, heart or lungs, it will lessen the weight of the Discord enough for you to not be hindered by it.”

A giddy smile stretched on Genji’s lips, and he bounced on the heels of his feet. “Well then, that’s great!”

“It is, but I fear it will not cancel it completely, and for that I am sorry. You have been through much, Genji, and Discord will attempt to pull up every doubt, every bad feeling, and negative emotion you’ve ever felt in the past… including the fears you’ve shared with me. Up to a point, Discord is malignant, but not harmful –but I plan to harness it to a level deeper than simply that, and when turned against others, its effects are actively detrimental, if not… deathly.”

“I understand.” Genji’s fingers clenched around the tiny beads, expression darkening. “But I trust you, Zenyatta, and I have not ignored the words you’ve spoken before, lessening the weight of my own doubts and fears. I will not fall prey to your Discord… not when I have you by my side, and your gift to help protect my mind.”

Zenyatta seemed startled, his head snapping up to look at Genji’s face, and his shoulders fell a little, surprise evident even without a proper expression to show it, and then his fans kicked in and he expelled a small, sudden gust of steam from his vents.

“I… am touched by your trust, Genji.”

Feeling a little embarrassed, Genji shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “We are in this together, and I couldn’t ask for anyone better for this fight.”

It seemed to him that Zenyatta tried to move towards him, fingers twitching, but then he stopped himself, and simply nodded. “That is my belief as well, Genji. I am happy we have met.”

The confession had Genji’s heart flutter, but he put one hand on his chest and forced himself to calm down, mind already set on the dangers approaching them fast.

He was shaken out of his thoughts by a soft glow coming from his side, and he turned around to watch Zenyatta shift and change, and was surprised to see him turn once again to the same appearance he’d had when they had met –down to the feathery hat, the weird metal line across his faceplate that mimicked a moustache, and the glowing red optical receptors.

After so long spent staring into the softer expression of his true form, and then to the weird, dangerous one of the Cultist, Genji blinked in surprise. “Why?”

“I do not wish to give Talon more information about me than they already have. I am aware they have spied on the Shambali for a long time, but I also know that I’ve spent weeks, then months, travelling with different appearances –and they might not connect each of them with the same omnic. As it is, I wish to meet them in a way that will startle them, let them think I have freed myself alone from their seal only to face them here.”

“An opponent you can startle is an opponent you can defeat,” Genji nodded his approval, a wry grin on his lips. “I believe my own presence here will help, as well.”

Zenyatta hesitated, and turned fully towards him. Dark red optical receptors met Genji’s eyes. “Except,” he said, a little quieter, “you will not be here, when Talon arrives.”

***

The soft, velvety magic surrounded them, endless and infinite, stretching out in every direction.

Under the caravan’s feet, a single line of black disappearing into the nothingness; the way the magic thrummed and vibrated in the air, heavy and alive, the mist blurring into the distance, made it so that nothing else but the Pathway seemed real.

The Magic itself felt like a coiled snake, tense and ready to attack, and ever since the group had slipped into the Pathway, directed towards the Shambali monastery, none of them had felt at peace.

The caravan was composed of two carriages, with a small army of walking men and women following closely, each of them carrying a small backpack, their weapons wrapped in white bandages and protected by magical runes, footsteps heavy and heads kept low, eyes trained on the black road and never straying.

They all could feel the weight of the magic surrounding them, rejecting their presence.

In the first carriage were three men, though at one glance, one would think none of them was truly travelling with the others, as each of them was lost in their own thoughts –one reading a book, one observing the outside with bored optical receptors and one meditating. On the floor between them, two statuettes slowly cracking and crumbling due to the magic the Pathways had demanded from the caravan since it had started it journey. Sitting on top of the carriage, a figure with long, black hair and empty eyes gazed into the nothingness, which reflected her soul –no payment would be asked for a creature without heart.

The second carriage had no living soul in it, and only contained two crates, magically sealed and protected; within the first crate were six items, each kept separately from the others so their innate magic would not clash with the rest.

Wrapped together in a fabric of silk were nine golden orbs, carved with beautiful patterns and humming, connected through a thin thread to their previous owner, waiting. Every now and then, as the magic of the Pathway found its way through the flimsy barrier, they lit up with a flicker of teal omnic energy before falling quiet again.

Wobbling inside a jar made of silver and clay and filled with ash was an eye, black except for the pupil, which was of a golden colour so deep it looked like it was constantly burning, seeing things not of this world –the eye of an Oracle, stolen at the height of their power, frozen in time to contain all the portents and glimpses of the future.

The third object was a beautiful katana, the hilt carved into the shape of a claw, tied by a rope of lightning and shadow, which prevented any soul from touching or using the blade. It had been ripped away from its owner, slaying it, but protected as it was by a deal made with a Witch, it had become useless, its power sealed away.

Chains wrapped the fourth object within a cocoon of silk and dryad hair, a heart ripped from a lady spider, one so mighty she had to be tricked in order for Talon to steal it from her. Subjugated, she remained as a faithful servant, motionless on top of the first carriage, untouched by the magic of the Pathways.

The fifth object was an arm –ripped from the elbow off the creature it had belonged to, fur and claws revealing the curse it carried within, and when the moon was full in the sky, the wound reopened, dripping with dark, thick blood. It remained motionless on the bottom of one of the crates, fingertips dried out.

There was a second jar in the crate –and in fact, the jar itself was a magical object, its cap sealed tightly with wax and honeydew so it would not topple over. Inside the jar was a force so strong it captured anything placed in front of it, sucking it within its depths, and only the word of the person holding the jar could spare something, or steal it all, and only that could ever let whatever was trapped come out again, else it be lost forever.

That last object had a trick to it –to set it off, one would need a sacrifice –the larger, the better. And so, a village had been immolated, against their will, over five years before. Their souls, their bodies, their magic stolen, trapped, digested within, leaving behind naught but abandoned houses, and a ghost town… and now the jar remained closed, in preparation for a ritual to come to trap a God.

Within the second crate, at the bottom of a bronze pot filled with purified water and liquid gold were seven vials, six of which full of blood.

That had been hard fought, each vial belonging to a different dragon, all from the same bloodline. The blood seemed to glow softly within the pot, thick with a magic so strong it could barely be contained –and heavy with a curse even stronger. The seventh vial was empty, and the eight shattered, for the last two dragons from that clan had escaped alive yet injured, preventing Talon from harvesting the last of its blood.

Surrounding the pot, polished and glistening, a long silver chain, at a glance frail and thin –but appearances could be deceiving, and so was the chain, made stronger by blood and bone of countless dragons slayed thanks to its use, over centuries upon centuries.

Aside for the unresponsive orbs, each object had been selected so it would aid Talon with its plan when the original one had fallen through –with the monastery frozen in time and the God out of reach, there had been no way to harness its powers… but Talon was patient, and resourceful.

They had not spent so much time only to see their work come undone.

It was true that the seventh vial of blood was empty, and the sword untouchable where originally they’d meant to take both that and a bow, and their plans to take the Witch’s staff had fallen through when she had disappeared from their radar, cloaked by magic they could not touch, but they could still succeed –and when the trap they’d left behind at the Shambali monastery had snapped, alerting them that something had happened, Talon had not waited.

The army following them was, in truth, a decoy.

Whatever was waiting for them would be either a restored monastery, whose God they planned to ensnare, or an unforeseen enemy, one who had triggered the spells left behind as a failsafe.

Visitors coming to see the monastery would not cause the alarms to flare, and that was why the Talon leaders had moved in a rush, gathering together their weapons and an army.

In truth, the carriage was a protected space, and those within would not be touched by the curse the Pathway would inflict once outside –the catalysts had paid with magic gathered within two statuettes, shouldering the weight of their travels so none of the leaders would arrive too tired to fight, but that could not be said for the troops that followed them on foot.

From them, the Pathway would demand a price, exacted while stepping through –a fact none of them knew about.

With that sacrifice, the three Talon leaders had prepared the grounds for a spell, the first step to steal the God of the Shambali and make it kneel to them… and with that power at their disposal, the three Talon leaders would have no enemy powerful enough to stop them.

Not even the rest of the Talon organization.

Within the first carriage, the omnic who had, until then, remained focused on the magic thrumming around the pathway blinked, his optical receptors shifting to the floor, where the two statuettes were almost fully crumbled into pieces at his feet.

He watched, nine-point forehead array dim, as the last of the stone frayed and fell, turning to dust, and when it did, the carriage stopped with a lurch.

“We are here,” he said, voice low and discordant.

He was built to fight, that much was clear –thick shoulder pads, reinforced with steel, sharp blades, an armour covering his front and a thick cascade of dark, thick wires to mimic a head full of hair, his faceplate white and mouthpiece a dark purple, which gave away his origins as a Null Sector omnic, though his appearance was more human-like than most of his peers.

“It is good… I was starting to get… antsy.” The man meditating at his side popped his neck and opened his eyes, darker against his already dark skin. His voice had a light accent, rusty and dry. He flexed his arms, grinning dangerously. “It has been too long since the last time I was able to get a challenge.”

The man with the book shut it close with a snap. Compared to his two companions, he had a lither built, smaller and unassuming, dressed properly with a white uniform with a lilac patch around the neck, but he held himself with pride, a look of quiet confidence to him. “Should we proceed with the plan, then?”

The other two Talon leaders nodded sharply at him and he stood up slowly, offering both of them a curt nod before he pushed the door of the carriage open and stepped out.

“Leader Sanjay,” the troop’s spokesperson stepped out of the ranks and moved his way, looking unnerved. “Is it time…?”

Sanjay wrapped both hands behind himself authoritatively, and gave them a nod, his expression shifting to something warm and open and benevolent. “Forgive us for such a long wait. I know it feels horrible to be out here, with the magic rejecting us… but no more. Soon, you will not have to think about this anymore.”

It was obvious from the relieved, reassured face of the spokesperson, that he’d been hoping for such an answer.

“Please wait here,” Sanjay continued, motioning for the spot they’d stopped into. “As your leaders, it is our duty to shoulder the first look outside, but your role will soon be clear –just wait for our signal, and be ready for action.”

“Yes, sir! We’ll do our best! Thank you for this opportunity!” the man hesitated, long ears twitching. “Truly, to ask my division, just out of training, to help in such a mission… it is an honour!”

Sanjay’s smile widened a little, just as warm and kind as before, and nodded. “It is all about trust –we know you have worked hard to go through the training regime, and we always reward hard work, in Talon, and… for this mission, your reward will truly be something greater than you can expect.”

“Yes, sir!”

Sanjay turned around in one swift movement, and then, with his back to the troops, his expression contorted into something darker, scheming.

“The only reward you’ll ever deserve,” he murmured to himself.

The other two Talon leaders dismounted from the carriage, and Sanjay moved towards them, hand fishing the amulet from his chest pocket to use to force an entrance open. They had been the ones to destroy the previous one, five years earlier, so Talon knew that whoever had approached the monastery had done so through other means.

“Are the troops ready, Sanjay?”

“Yes. They are ready to do their part.” Sanjay’s lips tilted into a mean smirk, then he schooled himself back to seriousness. “Strix…?”

The omnic stood up, and snapped his fingers.

From above the carriage, the quiet figure slid down and landed next to him, eyes wide and pupils thin; this close, the unnatural colour of her skin was even more visible, a pale blue so sheer it almost reflected on the golden magic surrounding them.

“Widowmaker,” Strix murmured in his dry, uneven tone, “prepare yourself for recon.”

She simply nodded, arms abandoned at her sides, expression slack.

Sanjay snorted at her, and then tapped into the amulet’s magic. A sudden wave of green energy exploded from his fingers and formed what seemed to be a big opening right in front of the four of them; it was not that similar to the entrance of the Pathways, for this was an emergency one, and not a stable portal, but its job was the same.

Even as he did so, it was clear the edges of the portal were fighting against the magic surrounding them, for even with the curse awaiting the troops behind them, the Pathway magic was still displeased at the payment they’d offered it.

“Go,” Strix told Widowmaker. “Make sure there is no trap awaiting us.”

With a sharp nod, Widowmaker stepped through the passage, and disappeared from view.

“Perfect.” Strix turned his head to their third, optical receptors narrowing. “Akinjide, is your weapon ready?”

“I charged it while meditating,” was the rumbling reply. “It is ready to bathe in the blood of a God.”

Strix’s forehead array blinked and then flared. “And in that of our enemies, so that the world will bow to us.”

Sanjay snorted. Among the three of them, he was the one who did not like to get dirty –he usually ordered others to do things that he considered below himself, though to be fair Sanjay’s principal job was that of a coercer, one who could turn the tides of war with his words and his actions. Both Strix and Akinjide were different –bloodlust was strong for them, and so was their desire to create chaos.

That was what had made them decide to separate from the rest of Talon, to create this mission in secret, so to prevail even among their own peers.

Sanjay was different. His interest had only aligned with theirs after careful consideration –he did not like to bet on the losing team, though he still had a way out, should this operation turn against them.

Capturing a God was, after all, not his dream, but he did feel partial to the ending prospect of sitting on top of the food chain, where he belonged.

Doing it with or without a god mattered little, and so did the lives of the soldiers waiting quietly for his orders.

Power was what mattered, and Sanjay had always had a taste for that.

All that was left to do now was wait for Widowmaker to come back –and then, Talon would proceed towards their goal.

The Shambali god would be either captured… or vanquished forever.


	9. Chapter 08

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tried to post yesterday but the page kept not loading correctly, went to bed, came here this morning to update and saw: chp08 as a draft, chp09 posted (it was still chapter 08) and two more chp08 as drafts next for 10 and 11 and im.
> 
> anyway it's fixed now, but omg

**Chapter 08**

The air was crisp and cold, the sun barely peeking from the clouds above, sky grey and heavy.

The mountainside was quiet and empty around the Shambali monastery, and though only the building was frozen in time, covered as it was by the Iris’ gentle touch, little life seemed to resist close to such unnatural stillness.

It remained nested between mountain and sky, visible even from a distance, and when one got close, it was revealed that there was a steep gorge separating the monastery from the main road. A sturdy bridge was built to connect the two sides of the mountain, though when looking past the edge the drop was deep and dangerous, full of sharp rocks and no handholds. Far below, at the bottom of the chasm, was a stream that rushed past with force, part of its course going deeper into the mountain, through underground tunnels and caves carved by the water over slow millennia.

The gorge was not too wide –just enough so that it would be impossible to jump past it, and it stretched far enough that it would be impractical to circle around it, so the bridge was the only way through.

Past the bridge, the road stretched to the cliff of the mountain where a staircase had been carved into the stone, the passage wide enough for three people to walk side by side. Though there was a rope secured on the side of the cliff, there was nothing to protect from wind and weather.

To reach the monastery from the town at the base of the mountain, it took a person over two hours at a good pace, provided they felt no vertigo at the steep staircase climb, and once again when making their way across the bridge, which while sturdy was made only of wood and ropes.

The view, though, was breath-taking, and before the monastery had frozen in time, many had travelled far simply for sightseeing. Of course, any and all visitors were welcome, the only stipulation not to cause harm to one another. After the village had been pillaged and left in ruins, the monastery itself had become unpleasant –its unnatural stillness had scared visitors and animals alike, and the road, now abandoned to itself, was overgrown with vegetation.

Zenyatta had not felt that kind of rejection –the Iris was warm on his metal, welcoming and soothing, but as he waited on one side of the bridge, senses open wide to the world around him, the remains of that dissonance stung, memories that had remained in the trees and the grass around the monastery, stagnating and oily to his senses.

He understood now why no one had brought news of the monastery’s fate, and why no one had tried to unravel the magic of the Iris from the stones of the monastery.

Idly, he wondered if this unnerving sensation would aid his Discord, and further its effects on the enemy.

The portal that opened abruptly at the top of the staircase was bright and electrifying, the edges fizzling with a magic that tasted light lightning, and Zenyatta’s attention shifted there instantly, optical receptors zooming to it.

Magic licked its edges as it widened, a rip of the air itself, a passage created inch by inch through violent means, unlike that of a Pathway, yet leading to the same place all the same.

A figure stepped through, and Zenyatta’s servos tensed.

His senses stretched to brush against the person standing tall in front of the portal, silhouette partially hidden by the cloak they were wearing and partially by the portal itself, the glow coming from within it enough to mask the figure’s features, and then recoiled instantly when he met –nothing.

The figure was hollow, echoing with the loud sound of silence rebounding from within, and no amount of searching allowed Zenyatta to find something there, except for a lingering sense of dread, like a badly cauterized wound left to rot in its infection.

Steeling himself, Zenyatta closed his senses off, just enough to stop feeling anguished at the nothingness, and stood up slowly, stretching his servos.

On the other side of the bridge, the figure moved away from the portal, observing the drop and the staircase first, then turning around to stare at the bridge, and when its… no, _her_ eyes –for it was a woman standing there, skin blue and hair like midnight– found him, she froze.

They regarded one another in silence, Zenyatta still in a relaxed pose, hands abandoned by his sides, the other tense and defensive.

“If you plan to step past the drop and reach this side,” he said, voice loud enough to reach the other side of the chasm, “I would suggest to avoid the bridge. It might look sturdy, but who knows what has been done to it?”

His auricular receptors caught the sound of her scoff. So… there was still a personality, there? Even without a heart?

“I have you in my sights,” she said, and her voice was almost soft. If not for his enhanced hearing, he might not have heard her at all. “You would call for a trap in such a way? Foolish.”

Swift, she threw something across the bridge, and it fell with an arc, dropping down on Zenyatta’s edge, right in front of him. It was a small contraption shaped like a spider, what would be the lower body glowing red.

Keeping his optical receptors aimed at the enemy, Zenyatta concentrated a ball of energy in his fist, and threw it at the little spider; it broke easily, and a dark mist rose from its remains, prompting Zenyatta to step back and away from it, even if he had no lungs to breathe it in.

He had no idea how long this impasse would last, nor when the rest of Talon would come through, but it appeared this person had been sent for reconnaissance.

“I do not need to come to your side to slay you, omnic,” the woman spoke up, a little louder. “You are but a little fly, caught in my web. Are you all that stands between Talon and its target?”

“Now, that would be telling, wouldn’t it?” Zenyatta tensed his servos, folding both hands in front of his chest. “If Talon hasn’t revealed its cards yet, why should I?”

His optical receptors caught the way her gaze hardened, eyes narrowed as they darted around, trying to see if Zenyatta was truly alone, or if he had company hidden somewhere.

“You might not have that much time left to live, omnic. I am Widowmaker, and I do not _miss_.”

With a flourish, the figure grabbed something from her back and flung her arm to the side; white bandages fell to the floor as the sealing magic that had kept the weapon safe from the Pathway unravelled, revealing the barrel of a long, thin rifle.

“We shall see about that,” he murmured, and his forehead array flared in preparation.

Her first shot happened so quickly Zenyatta barely noticed her moving, speed and accuracy far above what normal humans would have –but normal humans had to contend with human emotions, uncertainty and doubt and muscle spasms… this woman had none of that, and her grip on the rifle was stable and steely.

The bullet exploded towards Zenyatta’s head –and ricocheted off a barrier raised by his omnic energy, a flare of fire before what was left of the shot fell on the bridge, rolled over the wooden planks, and fell down the chasm.

Widowmaker scoffed, and shot again, and then again in rapid succession.

Zenyatta’s barrier rose again, and a second time, the second bullet falling off the edge again, but the third dropping down at his feet, as it had been stopped only inches away from his forehead.

For a moment, Widowmaker remained still, rifle still pointed at him. It was clear she was not a close-range combatant, not with that kind of weapon, but Zenyatta could not afford losing his focus –her aim was precise and sharp, no movements wasted, and the bullets she used were heavier than normal.

Stretching one hand forwards, Zenyatta lifted the bullet with his omnic energy, sparing a glance at it before sending it dropping into the chasm to follow the rest.

“Poison,” he said, and Widowmaker’s lips stretched into an empty smile. “Would that work even on metal, I wonder?”

“There is always a first time, omnic. Now be quiet and fall.”

“I do not think I will. I am waiting for your masters, spider.”

“Do you not think me enough to slay you before they even come?”

“I think you are on the wrong side of the bridge, and I am rather good at deflecting.”

Widowmaker’s fake smile fell. “We will have to see about that.”

With a snap of her wrist, a rope with a hook extended from her wrist and flew past Zenyatta’s head, attaching itself to a branch of a nearby tree.

Zenyatta did not move, and with lightning speed Widowmaker flew past the chasm, ignoring the bridge, her rifle poised on her shoulder, barrel aimed at him–

The bullet left the barrel one second before the protective magic Zenyatta had planted on the edge of the bridge flared up, and Widowmaker recoiled when she hit an invisible wall, slipping and falling, and while Zenyatta quickly protected himself from her bullet, she fell off the edge of the gorge, bumping into the soil and the rocks– but before she could fall too far, her rope snapped and shot upwards, back on the other side of the chasm, and she flew up again, stumbling on the ground and glaring at him.

“As I said, it will be difficult for you,” Zenyatta said once again, offering her a small shrug. “I do not intend to let you pass.”

Widowmaker did not speak again, but her eyes flickered from one side of the chasm to the other, gauging just how far the protective wall extended, then scoffed. She’d taken a hit while falling, but did not appear to be wounded, or hurt, and Zenyatta felt a coil of worry in his circuits.

That, and the emptiness she had inside, truly spoke of a creature whose heart had been stolen, but such practices had been deemed taboo–

“Then, my little fly, the spider will retire, and wait for you to fall into its web.”

She stepped back, to the edge of the portal, and slipped through.

The portal did not close, but with her disappearance, Zenyatta’s shoulders dropped, some of the tension finally leaving his body.

If that was just the start, he was worried about what would come through it next.

***

When Widowmaker passed through the portal once again, the three Talon leaders straightened up.

“Have you been able to assess the situation?” Sanjay asked her.

It had taken her too little time, and it made him wary.

“There is a barrier,” she replied, gaze vacant. “It is not possible to pass through to the monastery.”

“Of course there’s a barrier! We did not ask you to enter the monastery!” Sanjay snapped with a snarl.

“No. There is a barrier in front of the bridge. And an omnic was waiting there.”

Taken aback, Sanjay frowned. “An omnic.”

“Yes.”

Akinjide’s expression turned dark, and he stepped forwards, facing Widowmaker. “What omnic.”

“He was expecting us.”

“So… did one of the omnics frozen within the monastery come out, then? Is the barrier weakening?” Akinjide’s eyes darted back towards the second carriage. “Or did they come from outside? One omnic alone couldn’t possibly think to win against us.”

“What if he is not alone, then?” Sanjay tapped his fingers against his other arm, rhythm discordant. “If the monastery has been unfrozen, we might have to face all of them.”

“It is good we have brought an army, then.” Strix stepped forwards, forehead array burning a deep red. “Not all of them will meet their demise right away, once outside. Some will have… time. Let us proceed with our plan and face that omnic directly.”

“Let me at him, then, if our troops fail to remain alive long enough to touch him.” Akinjide cracked his knuckles, and raised his right arm. His knuckles were covered in molten metal, and as he snapped his fingers, the metal came alive to coat his hand, then his wrist, then down, expanding, building upon itself until it formed an enormous glove, metal polished and hard, prosthetic fingers crackling with electricity. He opened his fist, and his lips twisted into an ugly smirk. “Let them taste the doom of my fist.”

“I will remain here with the rest of the troops and our cargo,” Sanjay stated, eyeing the metallic prosthetic with vague interest. “I believe you will be able to easily take care of the problem, so we can advance on the God.”

Both Strix and Akinjide sent him disgusted looks, but he cared little for their thoughts –after all, they were all here in equal standing, and they needed his plans just as much as he’d needed their strength.

They walked out of the portal without looking back, and Sanjay sighed, turning towards Widowmaker.

“What will be of me?” she asked, her tone as disinterested as before.

“You will stay here. If you could not kill that omnic, it is better you do not stray.”

Sanjay spun around and briskly walked back towards the troops, stationed not too far from both carriages.

The Pathways would allow them to stay for as long as they wished to, but once out, it would not take long for the curse to spread. Sanjay would have to send only a small fraction of the soldiers out, to avoid them panicking and revealing the truth to the others.

“Spokesperson!” he called out, and the man who had approached him before snapped up, hurrying towards him. “Send out a quarter of your men outside to aid your masters.”

With a sharp whistle, the spokesperson rounded up a small group around himself, instructing the soldiers, and sent them towards the portal, watching them with glowing eyes full of pride. “Taught them myself,” he murmured, seeking praise from Sanjay once again. “Reckon they’ll be useful.”

Sanjay studiously kept the smirk out of his face, nodding at the man instead. “That they will.”

He waited until the last of the group of sacrifices exited the portal, humming to himself, then observed the rest of his troops. There were enough soldiers there that it would not matter if some had enough magic in them to survive the ordeal –their numbers were enough to sustain more than a single spell and start the process of capturing a God.

Still, the thought of a single omnic standing between them and the monastery sent a shudder down his back, and Sanjay considered another option –while his two colleagues faced that omnic face to face, perhaps he could take a few of the soldiers with him, and open another portal, this time on the other side of the monastery, to see if it had been unfrozen, or if there were more dangers waiting outside. If they were attacked, he could send out his own little sacrificial tools and retire, and thus warn Strix and Akinjide about it.

If not…

Perhaps, Sanjay thought, straightening his back, he might get a head start on preparing the grounds for the actual ritual.

Snapping his attention back towards Widowmaker, he barked out his orders at her. “Widowmaker, change of plans.” As she moved closer, he turned towards the spokesperson once again. “You, come with me, and bring with you six of your men.”

He ignored the way the man’s face brightened, and instead focused his senses to the magic of the Pathways. Sanjay knew it would feel his decision and shift accordingly, and in fact, he felt a small pull within his chest that was leading him to the side of the black path; as he took a step towards the edge, he watched as the path split, and a second, narrower one seemed to stretch to the side.

Sanjay only had to take a few steps before the Pathways magic had him stop, but he did not waste time, and used the amulet once more, creating a second opening identical to the first, green flicks of electricity surrounding it to keep it open.

“Widowmaker, go first. I will follow.” Sanjay turned to the seven soldiers that has grouped up behind him, and observed them with keen eyes. They did not seem strong, but they would do well enough to shield him, if things came down to that. He nodded at them, shifting his expression to something more favourable, and kept his sneer to himself when they brightened up at his ‘approval’.

Stepping through the portal, Widowmaker kept her senses trained, not wishing for a repeat of her previous encounter with the omnic.

The other side of the monastery was a barren mountainside slide, with only a small path that one could barely see through the grass and rocks unwinding down and out of sight; there was little else of importance on that side, no trees or anything to block the view, just nothingness as far as the eye could see.

Widowmaker turned around, and found herself face to face with the outer edge of the wall surrounding the monastery, and stone stairs that led to what appeared to be an external garden surrounded by tall columns and pillars.

Even from this side, the place looked like a dormant creature, wrapped into some kind of power that sent a chill of something down Widowmaker’s back; she was not sure she liked it, but it did disrupt the chill calm that seemed to permeate her entire being, and something inside her _ached_, like there was a hole she’d suddenly become aware of.

Hissing in distaste, Widowmaker took a step back, tension building in her body, but had no time to do anything else, because behind her, Sanjay stepped through the portal, curling his upper lip in distaste at the steep slope.

“Unpleasant place,” he murmured, observing the view before turning to stare at the monastery. “Too far from civilization.”

After Sanjay, the seven soldiers slowly stepped outside, eyeing their surroundings with an eager sort of wariness.

Widowmaker was the only one looking at them, and thus, the only one who noticed that as they came through, barely visible black threads seemed to push against their bodies, only to snap when they moved through. She blinked and the glimpse was gone, but she’d recognized the sight for what it was –magical curse, something she had been familiar with, once.

The thought was as spontaneous as foreign, and Widowmaker paused, body tense, to think about it.

Familiar with…?

There had been nothing before, and nothing now, and there would be nothing afterwards. Eyes dimming, she brushed away the weird thought and turned to stare at Sanjay.

“The monastery is still frozen in time,” the man muttered to himself, ignoring the way one of the soldiers behind him gasped, pressing one hand to their chest. “The omnic waiting for us must have come from elsewhere –perhaps one of the Shambali who had been outside when it got sealed away. It does not matter, then –we have gathered enough that no attempt will stop us. Soldiers! Spread out and check for traps.”

“Sir, Kasada doesn’t feel well–”

“It must be some kind of magical curse,” Sanjay brushed the spokesperson off, a sharp wave of his hand. “If you do not find the cause, we will need him back into the portal, so you’d better get to it.”

The other six nodded sharply, worry carefully buried behind steel masks, and they spread out in a hurry, the spokesperson having Kasada lean on him as they moved to the far side, towards the monastery.

Sanjay did not move until they were far enough, then he turned to Widowmaker. “Return inside the portal and join Strix and Akinjide. If they are having trouble with the omnic, knowing he is acting alone will allow them to attack without holding back. We have time, but it is preferable we deal with any obstacle quickly so we can move on completing the mission.”

She nodded and went without looking back, and Sanjay watched her go with narrowed eyes. Her presence there would have complicated the ritual –he had to carve it out on the ground, and there would be only three safe spots around it, for himself and his two colleagues, and though her lacking a heart made her resilient to magic and untouched by curses, a life without a soul was still a life, and the ritual might still target her. He did not wish to give up on such a strong pawn when he had plenty sacrificial nobodies ready to be used instead.

Turning his back to the portal, he stepped away from it, choosing a spot that was more or less a straight surface, wide enough so that he could create a ritual circle big enough for what they needed to do.

There was no real reason to work at the main entrance, after all, and this would do just as nicely.

Sanjay moved slowly, taking his time, pulling out a pair of black gloves made of chimera hide and sliding them on before taking out from the inside of his pocket a small jar, opening it carefully. It contained powdered ink mixed with animal blood, the concoction thick and foul smelling.

As he smeared his fingers with the black paste, the gloves hissed and some smoke raised from them, but the hide was thick and did not burn all the way through as Sanjay knelt down, mindless of the dust and dirt, and started to paint the circle.

He did not notice the way the air seemed to flicker for a moment behind him as something invisible snuck past him, slowly, quietly, and slipped into the portal.

***

The air changed around Zenyatta, thick with something heavy and unidentifiable as the portal on the other side of the bridge flickered, and two figures exited from it.

The spider had not returned, but it was clear the danger had simply changed its appearance.

The first to come through the portal was a human, skin dark, hair cut very short and only wearing pants, but his body was covered with metal augmentations, mostly on his back and the sides of his chest, clearly to support what appeared to be a giant prosthetic around his right arm, glinting in the sunlight.

Zenyatta tensed, stretching out his senses towards him, and was grateful when he did feel something –after Widowmaker, he’d been afraid that all of Talon would be similarly heartless–but what he felt did not soothe his wariness.

There was darkness within the man, the kind that seemed to spread and sink deeper, a sharp, focused mind.

The second was an omnic, body built like a fighter, unlike Zenyatta’s –thick arms and neck and legs, covered fully with protective layers of metal and a mantle thrown over his body. The colours of his chassis were what sent shivers down Zenyatta’s back, though –they were familiar to him, and unpleasant at that. The omnic originated from Null Sector, and nothing good had ever come from such group, who only wished to terminate humans and bring omnics to the top.

That Talon would have one of them within its group did not bode well.

Following the two, a small group of what appeared to be soldiers trooped out of the portal, clambering for a moment before aligning themselves behind the two –it was obvious they were the leaders of the mission, as the rest deferred to them.

The omnic turned to stare at Zenyatta, taking his time, while the human cracked his neck, a smirk on his lips.

“That’s the thing that got Widowmaker worried? Doesn’t look like much.”

Zenyatta hummed. “It is rather uncouth to speak about someone while he stands in front of you.” After a moment, he pressed his joined hands in front of his mouthpiece. “And even more so not to introduce yourself when facing an opponent.”

The omnic snorted, a curt sound, but the human hummed and nodded.

“I am Akinjide Adeyemi, holder of the Doomfist.” He clenched the prosthetic fist, and Zenyatta sized it with his optical receptors. It looked like it would hurt if he allowed it even one hit. “If you plan on facing us down, reconsider. I have yet to lose a fight, and it will not be someone like you who will defeat me.”

The omnic did not speak, not at first –his optical receptors were trained on Zenyatta with a penetrant gaze, and Zenyatta returned the game without flinching, wondering what an omnic such as him would find, looking at a model like Zenyatta’s.

Even with this appearance and expensive-looking clothes, Zenyatta knew his metal was oxidized, and the scratches and bumps remained no matter what, if a little more hidden in this form due to the darker colour of his chassis, and he lacked the armoured protection the Null Sector omnic had.

Comparing the two, it seemed obvious that one would be the winner, and Zenyatta knew by appearances alone, he was not favoured for this fight.

And yet.

“Strix,” the omnic finally said, his tone even. The timber of his voice made Zenyatta shiver. “For I feast upon those who choose to challenge me. Are you one as well, omnic?”

Zenyatta exhaled an artificial breath, and slowly curled both feet underneath his body, moving from standing to hovering in mid-air. “I am Tekhartha Zenyatta, of the Shambali. Though you came here to face a God, you will only find me.”

The human –Akinjide– seemed startled, recognition flashing on his face, but it was the omnic’s reaction that settled like a stone on Zenyatta’s chest. Strix tightened both hands into fists at his sides, and Zenyatta’s senses were assaulted by the shift of his emotions to something sharp like a knife, and just as dangerous.

“I thought we would have all of your fellows die inside that golden prison,” Strix murmured, and it was only due to Zenyatta’s keen auricular receptors that he heard him at all. “And you, sealed away, without a way out. How did you get free, little Shambali?”

“… wouldn’t you like to know?” Zenyatta continued to float, concealing his tension behind a calm mask, and Strix snorted. “It would be unlike me to offer answers to the questions asked by the enemy.”

“Ah, but are you not open to questioning from every side, little Shambali?” Strix’s voice was so low it rumbled deep in his synth. “Should you not allow anyone who seeks enlightenment to have a way to reach it?”

“Only if it is for the benefit of their soul –not as a way to unravel truths best kept under wraps.”

“Do you find my soul not worth saving, then?” his tone was taunting, and even without lips, it was clear Strix was smirking.

“You do not wish to be saved, and actively seek to harm me and the rest of the Shambali.” _‘And Genji,’_ he added within his own mind, where thinking about him was safe. “If you wish to step down, though, I will take your willingness as a sign.”

The laughter he received as an answer was not unexpected but it was so abrupt it still startled him, cold and metallic and loud, and even the soldiers standing behind Strix seemed shaken by it. “Oh, you amuse me much –but you are just like the rest of them, full of nice, comforting beliefs wrapped into saccharine words, yet too weak to see the truth of the world, and too complacent to change. It will be a pleasure to take you apart, piece by piece, keeping you alive until the rest of the few that escaped your frozen monastery blessing are hunted down and killed –and then, little Shambali, I will take your life as the last of them, for daring to stand there as if you have any right to.”

The words were delivered with an even tone, dark but emotionless, and Zenyatta felt Discord swirl within him, fear and worry bleeding into his circuits, processes faltering at their weight.

“If that is your intention, I do not think you will succeed. See…” Zenyatta rose a little in mid-air, folding his hands on his lap, forehead array steadily blinking, “… I do not intend to die by your hand –not now, nor ever. I stand to protect my home, and the Iris stands with me.”

“Your Iris is nothing but power to be harnessed and used, little Shambali –and we will hold the reins of it as the world crumbles for us… one. By. One.”

As if to prove his point, one of the guards standing behind him wobbled and then fell, face first, on the ground. Screams of shock from his teammates rose in the tense silence, but neither Strix nor Akinjide turned to look, even when the fallen man was surrounded and shaken by his comrades.

“Help! Master Strix, sir, he–”

“What is happening?! His skin is turning grey–!”

Then, a sturdy, short woman with long hair and beard grunted and fell to her knees, her olive skin bleeding into a sick grey. Her voice echoed in a loud scream as she tried to stand, frantic now, watching her own hands lose colour and life.

Zenyatta’s core stuttered. It was as he feared, and he did not have to look to know what was happening –the guards had not paid for their travel through the Pathways, and now the magic demanded its price tenfold, unleashing its curse on them.

“How many?” he asked, core heavy.

Akinjide snorted, without looking back. One of the men stumbled towards him, stretching one hand trembling towards him, horrified to see the tips of his fingers crumble like ashes, fading in the air as he panted, mouth open in a soundless scream.

“All of them,” Akinjide answered, the fanatical smirk on his face wide enough to hurt. “It is but the truth of Talon –the weak perish, the strong survive.”

One of the soldiers seemed to understand what was happening, because all of her seven eyes widened, fangs bared in recognition, ashen white. “You– you did not pay for us,” her voice was frail, broken in her trust. “You never intended to.”

“Well, you’re a smart one, are you?” Akinjide grinned at her, wide and unabashed. “Too bad it’s too late. So let your deaths be useful to us.”

He moved fast, and in the blink of an eye he’d snapped his prosthetic arm towards the closest soldier, the one whose hand had already turned to dust, the grey spread all over his face and hair. The soldier panicked and tugged, but the grip was steely as Akinjide shifted on his feet and then threw him forwards, with enough force that the soldier stumbled past the edge of the bridge.

Zenyatta’s core ached, guilt mixing with grief, as the man screamed, one of the traps that Genji had placed on the bridge activating.

A rope of fire burned from his side of the mountain to the other, catching the soldier in full, and a moment later the fire had consumed him –and he was gone, together with the bridge, leaving the chasm wide open to separate Zenyatta from Talon.

The soldiers who were still standing, shocked into silence by the sudden sacrifice, started to scream, and one of them, whose colour had yet to fade to grey, stumbled as he turned around towards the portal, running to it.

“Oh, you do not get to run, now. We do need you.” Strix raised his fist, and shot something from his knuckles back at the running man, catching him on the back.

Instead of grey, crimson spread from where he’d been hit. It was not blood –it spread quickly, until it covered the screaming soldier, and then Strix closed his hand into a fist and _pulled_. The man froze mid-step, as if his time had stopped, and then shadows rose from the ground, enveloping him and swallowing him whole.

Zenyatta, distracted by the pulsating red glow of Strix’s forehead array, had barely enough time to react before the shadows reappeared in front of him, coalescing into crimson blades that struck at him.

His barriers rose at the last moment, and the blades clashed into them, stopped mid motion as Zenyatta’s shoulders heaved in strain.

Zenyatta recognized the technique, but what shocked him was that an omnic had used it, rather than a creature with blood –as it used that as its core power, turning whatever the blood touched into raw magical power against an opponent.

“You…”

The soldiers who were not weeping or crumbling on the ground screamed, loud over Zenyatta’s words, and attacked Strix, moved by panic and fury, and Zenyatta had only enough time to focus once again before Strix’s oil –for that was his ‘blood’, after all– was sent towards them, turning two of them into living weapons that assaulted Zenyatta’s barriers mercilessly, leaving him stumbling backwards under the assault.

“Do not fear, little Shambali,” Strix hummed, raising his fist towards him, “When my supply dwindles, I still have aces in my sleeves, just for you.”

“Oh, don’t have all the fun for yourself, Strix,” Akinjide purred, cracking his knuckles, voice almost drowned out by the screaming soldiers. His prosthetic Doomfist shone under the sun. “We just have to keep him alive for now, right? So I get to play, too.”

He took a step forwards, reaching the edge of the chasm separating them, but a sudden sound rose above the screaming, a discordant noise like nails on stone– and behind them, the portal to the Pathways fizzled and extinguished itself.

Zenyatta’s core jolted at the sight, a bitter sense of relief washing over him.

_‘Genji managed to get through, then,’_ he thought.

Now, Strix, Akinjide and the rest of their army were stuck –no portal, no way out. The first part of his plan had worked.

As the two Talon leaders’ heads snapped back to stare at where the portal had been, Zenyatta closed his senses off, catching only the spike of anger and fury from them, just in time before their emotions overwhelmed him with their strength.

He watched, almost detachedly, as one of the soldiers crying in the background collapsed fully on the ground, clawing into the rocks and grass as their body started to fade, tears down their eyes, accepting the grief he felt for the soldier’s death and letting it flow past him.

There would be time, later, to send their souls off with a prayer, but Zenyatta had to focus so he would not end up with the same fate.

Stuck as they were now, with only a small number of soldiers that were slowly dying, the two Talon leaders were alone against him.

Zenyatta exhaled an artificial breath, tensed his servos and allowed Discord to simmer to the surface.


	10. Chapter 09

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna leave a comment or kudos, feel free to! :D I worked hard on this fic (and don't forget to have a look at all the other fics written for the bigbang and their fanarts!)

**Chapter 09**

The portal was gone.

Strix shifted his attention from where the portal had been to the floating figure of the omnic on the other side of the gorge, forehead array dim, optical receptors zooming in on him, as if attempting to figure him out.

He looked frail, weak and unassuming, dressed in expensive clothes that could not hide how battered his metal body was –a conundrum, his appearance, so unlike that of a Shambali while at the same time still carrying the important details, like the removed covers from his chassis to expose his inner pistons and circuits.

Yet, Strix was a smart omnic, and would not be fooled by appearances.

Slowly, he reigned in on his anger, letting it simmer and burn without clouding his thoughts –acting without consideration would only prove to be dangerous, no matter how weak the opponent looked… yet he had faced enemies who’d looked even less than this, and found them fierce fighters.

“You were not alone,” he said, and knew Zenyatta heard him, even above the sounds of the soldiers still panicking around them. “But this action poses a disadvantage for you, not us. Even discounting the sacrificial pawns,” the closest soldier screamed at him, but he ignored him, “it is still two against one –and we are _strong_, little Shambali. How do you think you can withstand us?”

Zenyatta remained where he was, hands joined in front of his face, but his forehead array burned a deep teal, swirling with something even darker. “Even while not underestimating me, you still do not see the whole picture… but I invite you to try and best me.”

“It will be your defeat, little Shambali.”

Strix stretched his arm towards one of the soldiers, but Akinjide acted before he could complete his movement, grabbing the struggling, dying woman in his doomfist and then chucking her into the chasm; she sailed in the air, screaming, and Zenyatta tensed, making an aborted movement as if wanting to save her –but again Akinjide acted before he could do anything, and shot a vial towards the flailing sacrifice.

The vial flew into the air and a cloud of purple smoke rushed out of it, enveloping her body as it fell. The woman screamed again as the mist consumed her body, choking on it as it expanded in a swirl of purple, spreading–

Zenyatta backed away, alarmed, but was taken by surprise as the barrier he’d placed on the gorge _snapped_ –and then he was sent flying backwards, falling into a heap on the ground, processes buzzing in shock.

When he looked up again, one hand on his head, Zenyatta saw rotten, contorted roots connecting both sides of the mountain, the barrier he had erected gone, eroded by the dark magic Akinjide had used.

Akinjide moved forwards, lifting his doomfist in the air threateningly, and though the roots creaked under his feet as he walked across the new, makeshift bridge, they held his weight, and he passed through with ease.

Zenyatta stood up and within him, Harmony receded further, the cool sensation of Discord spreading through his circuits, filling his servos with nervous energy.

“Last chance, omnic,” Akinjide purred, lips twisted into a feral grin, “I do not stop until I have conquered _all_. As alive as he wants to keep you, you will not miss a few of your limbs.”

Tightening his hands into fists, Zenyatta rose once again into the air, feet not touching the ground. “I will not back down. I am not alone, and the Iris is with me. Come if you want, for I will not break.”

Lifting his doomfist in the air, Akinjide grinned and ran at him.

The first attack was fast, despite the weight of the arm –Akinjide’s augmentations aided his movements, making him almost a blur– and Zenyatta avoided it just barely, processes and receptors adjusting to the fast pace.

Akinjide’s other hand came at him as he moved out of the way, fingers splayed wide, metallic nails glinting, and Zenyatta parred it with his arm, shocked when it ricocheted to the side by a flare of electricity coming from Akinjide’s fingers.

“Do take me seriously, omnic –or you’ll end up struck and gone.”

“I do believe that you will be the one to fall.”

With a swift movement, Zenyatta called forth from within himself the cold touch of Discord, and his hand swirled with a thick, oily darkness as he thrusted his hand out.

Akinjide pushed back instinctively, the darkness radiating from Zenyatta’s palm filling him with a jittery wariness, and then the naked skin of his chest came into contact with it and he hissed at the touch, feeling something icy cold spread into him like sickness.

Teeth chattering, Akinjide stumbled back a little, and Zenyatta moved again, swirling in mid-air and sending Akinjide flying with a round kick.

Gasping on the ground, Akinjide grabbed his chest with his human hand, metallic nails digging lightly into his skin, as if attempting to dig out the sensation of cold, stuttering and breathing harshly through his open mouth.

“What in hell–?”

“There is disquiet in your soul,” Zenyatta murmured, tone shifting lower, darker. His forehead array flashed purple for a moment. “Bask in the shadow of doubt.”

Gritting his teeth, Akinjide stood up again, but he was not as stable now, pose corrupted by the cold spreading through him, almost unsure.

“What did you do to me…?” he cursed, eyes focusing on Zenyatta still floating in front of him.

His heart was beating too fast in his chest, touched by a growing sense of impending doom, the figure of his enemy feeling more daunting now than it had been moments before.

Akinjide swiped his hand across his forehead, and found himself sweating, chills running down his arms until his hand, closed into a fist, shook.

“Everything is surrounded by darkness,” Zenyatta’s voice seemed to come almost from within himself, dark and filled with foreboding. “It lives within you, seeps through the cracks of your soul and then buries itself deeper, growing, always growing, no matter how long you hide from it.”

“Shut up.” Clenching his doomfist, Akinjide straightened his back, fighting against the fear that was bubbling up inside his chest, breathing harshly. “You will not be my defeat.”

“I do not need to be,” Zenyatta murmured. “Your own companion will. Or do you think you could trust him to be at your back, when what he seeks is the same as you do –to conquer, destroy, and own?”

Akinjide attacked him again, movements a little sloppier than before, and Zenyatta overworked his processes to keep avoiding the hits.

It was more dangerous now –his thoughts frayed by doubt, Akinjide’s actions were more violent, less considerate.

Again he came at him, doomfist brushing a fraction of an inch away from Zenyatta’s faceplate, and he felt the strength of the hit, the bulging muscles, even as he dropped down, avoiding his other fist before it could collide with his neck.

“He watches, but has no allegiance to you,” Zenyatta said again, and within him, the Discord grew stronger, thicker, choking him from inside, some of his circuits slowing down at its cold touch.

Zenyatta did not allow himself to stutter, his fans’ processes halted so his core could heat up to fight the frost that was spreading inside him.

Discord was a two-faced weapon, and the deeper he fell into it, the faster it would fester, freezing his core and his insides, until…

But he had no plans to give in to the Discord.

He struck, Discord coalescing into a swirling sphere of power in his hand, and when Akinjide came at him, eyes wide and pupils thin, he swung out of the way, pressing his hand against his shoulder, where metal and skin melted together, and _pushed_.

Akinjide growled and shook him off, elbowing Zenyatta in the delicate area around his neck, sending him stumbling backwards, feet almost touching the ground before he righted himself.

The cold was spreading –inside both Zenyatta and Akinjide, spirals of ice that were like blades, but Zenyatta knew how to control it, direct its full effects at his opponent and avoiding the darkness to affect his mind, while Akinjide could not, and the result was obvious.

The rage contorting Akinjide’s face disfigured him, lips twisted in a mirthless grimace, eyes wide, hand shaking as his heart rate accelerated, caught in the middle of the panic induced by Discord, twisting his perception of reality, making him _doubt_.

Zenyatta could stand the cold, and if he could take down at least one of his opponents…

Akinjide attacked again, screaming and throwing himself at him with fury, and Zenyatta’s thoughts scattered as he kept himself defensive, avoiding being hit, his focus more on the doomfist than the other hand.

“Your doubts fester,” Zenyatta spoke again, “and they carry truth within them. How long have you had your partner by your side, Akinjide? Have you always trusted him?”

He parred one hit with his shoulder, accusing the blow and deflecting most of the power of it by shifting backwards, following the movement to lower the impact, and was barely able to move out of the way of the doomfist as it rained down on his head, the tip of the knuckles brushing against his metal, scraping it.

“You cannot evade me forever, monk!”

“I do not fear you,” Zenyatta murmured, and his forehead array flashed a deep purple, teal drained away. His voice echoed strangely, and Akinjide winced when his eyes caught sight of shadows growing longer around them, even if when he blinked they were gone from the sides of his vision. “Can you say the same?”

Feral, breathing hard, Akinjide bared his teeth at him, the muscles of his neck tensing and bulging. “I have no trust for my comrade, but even I know how to deal with a fomenter –pummel them to the ground.”

Zenyatta’s head snapped to the side as he heard the sound of magic humming, but he was not fast enough –a burst of red flames surged from the tip of the doomfist, scalding hot and burning their way towards his face.

No time to avoid it –Zenyatta dropped down, bringing one arm to protect his face, and pain flared as the fist connected and he was sent flying, receptors hissing as he tumbled on the ground.

Akinjide did not wait for him to stand and chased him, lowering his body down and throwing another punch, and though Zenyatta braced himself for it, the fist struck him in the softer area of his chest, metal bending under the fierce hit, and he was sent further down, back hitting a tree.

Pain burned through his circuits as they flared with alerts, part of his shoulder damaged from the first hit, the metal opaque and dented, and his stomach wasn’t faring any better, the metal bending inwards to put pressure on his inner circuits, sending more jolts of pain through him.

Zenyatta coughed, hissing, and then rolled out of the way, forcing his body to respond when Akinjide tried to stomp down on his head, moving to the side and then standing once again, his hovering barely keeping him from stumbling on his own feet.

Akinjide did not falter, and continued his assault, forcing Zenyatta back again, and then once more, punching and attacking him with scorching fire.

Cold, and then colder, the Discord expanded further, and Zenyatta allowed his mind to fall back into it, numbing the pain as the chill extended to the tips of his fingers, taking away the ache in his shoulder, and that on his stomach.

His vision turned darker, the edges taken by purple tendrils, and the haze of the dark side of the Iris embraced him, the cold familiar yet so unlike the normal warmth of its golden counterpart, but Zenyatta didn’t care, his soul diving into the power until the sound of it rushed to his auricular receptors, almost overwhelming him.

He had hoped to goad both of his enemies first, try to make them distrustful of each other, use more time to give Genji a chance to join him again, but he knew he could not hope to continue this by underestimating two Talon leaders.

The next attack arrived from above, Akinjide towering over him, fist coming down to his core, and Zenyatta’s hand snapped up, meeting the blow half-way, fingers splayed and hissing with darkness, tendrils of purple circling around his wrist.

His arm creaked, the metal ceding slightly under the force of the punch, and Akinjide gritted his teeth, a wild smirk that faltered when Zenyatta’s fingers dug into the metal of the doomfist, holding on it with a steely grip, and the darkness spread over it, advancing, icy cold and pulsating.

“Experience nothingness,” Zenyatta murmured, and the Discord within him uncoiled and shot out of his core.

It felt natural, familiar, to fall into the Iris, hearing its whispers in the back of his mind, voices brushing against his senses, so many voice speaking over one another so he could understand nothing of it –cold, colder than the gentle warmth of the Harmony, but welcoming all the same, the cold soothing the burn and the pain, washing it away, and Zenyatta’s mind sharpened, feeling rooted to his body, feeling the edges of it bursting at the seams, so different from how he’d lose himself to the Harmony, confines blurring until Zenyatta felt part of everything.

Within the confines of himself, Zenyatta drowned in the dark, unforgiving part of the Iris, and the power answered his call, surging to him.

Akinjide cursed, trying to tug his doomfist away from Zenyatta, but he could not –the grip was tight and as the darkness spread, purple encompassing the entire prosthetic and then climbing further, Akinjide watching in horror as the Discord went from mist to a thick slime that covered him whole. He gasped and panted, fear taking over, and the Discord stole his breath away.

Far away, standing at the edge of the bridge made of black roots, Strix observed, frozen in place, as darkness consumed Akinjide’s body, and behind him, the few soldiers still alive cowered and cried at the waves of Discord that spread towards them, dropping on the ground as despair filled their already failing consciousness.

Strix himself wavered but held his ground, sensors and processes faltering under the sudden onslaught he felt vibrating on his body, but his optical receptors were trained on Zenyatta’s frame, on the six purple, glowing metal arms that sprouted from his back, the power of the God Talon had wanted to capture for so long using Zenyatta’s body as a medium to burst out, dark and absolute, and stared in awe as Akinjide, completely covered in purple ooze, started to scream.

Slowly, without taking his optics away from Zenyatta’s body, Strix reached out with one hand to the floor, where one of his soldiers was sobbing, body completely grey and slowly disappearing into the air, and dripped oil from his open palm onto him.

As his oil covered the man, turning him into energy to fuel his attack and then trickled to the rest of the soldiers behind him, Strix stepped onto the bridge and crossed over –just in time to see Zenyatta arch up into the air, Akinjide still held tightly into his hand by his doomfist.

With a flick of his wrist, Zenyatta threw the still screaming body of Akinjide off the side of the gorge.

Strix watched, standing on top of the bridge, as Akinjide’s body tumbled in the air and fell by his side, and as he fell, his face broke free from the discord ooze, his eyes wide and panicked and almost unseeing –and their eyes meet, for that one moment, as Strix did not move to aid him, and simply let him fall.

One second later Akinjide was gone, precipitating into the chasm, hitting the sides as he went down and disappeared from sight.

The moment passed, Strix stepped off the bridge, circuits aching under the onslaught of what he was feeling coming in waves from Zenyatta, and ignored everything else around him.

He did not hear Akinjide’s body falling into the river at the deep bottom of the chasm, swept away by the water current, nor did he listen to the last fading screams of the soldiers behind him as his oil spread to all of them, taking their lives to fuel his own power.

All his focus was on the enemy –on Zenyatta in front of him– and on the God that lived through him.

Perhaps, the God did not truly reside within the frozen monastery, and maybe to truly harness its power, Strix did not need to goad it out of it.

Perhaps, all he needed was to capture this monk that the God was using as its vessel.

***

It was a strange feeling, to be completely invisible.

Genji had not had the time to try this in the past –he had bought the trinket in a magical market two months before meeting Zenyatta, and had not needed to use it since then– and while it worked perfectly, wrapping its magic around Genji and making his body transparent, so he could not be seen, Genji had not expected it would include by his own eyes, as well.

His body was still there, and if he reached out with one hand, he could touch his other arm, or his shoulder, or his thighs as he crouched, but he could not see them, and it was… almost uncomfortable. Uncanny.

Still, it did the trick –and Genji had been able to hide himself from Talon as the portal opened in front of the monastery, and Talon troops came out of it.

Zenyatta had mentioned that he was not sure Talon would choose the main entrance of the monastery to appear, but that he suspected it would be the obvious choice, and that the Pathway magic itself, working against Talon, would be in their favour.

He’d also asked Genji not to be present –and despite his protests, had not budged. Genji’s heart ached at the thought of leaving Zenyatta to face the enemy by himself, but he understood. He did not like the idea, and his mind screamed at him, but he _understood_.

Genji needed to find whatever thing he had to, as per the Witch’s instructions –or else, they would not survive.

What that object was, he did not know, but if the Witch had been sure it would be with Talon, then Genji needed to abstain from fighting in order to search for it, and Zenyatta had said that they would only have one chance.

Talon would wish to investigate first, and upon seeing Zenyatta waiting there, with a set of traps, they would send someone to confront him, thus lowering Talon’s attention and allowing Genji to slip into the Pathway, cloaked by his trinket, to find his object. Originally, his intention had been to wait on the other side of the monastery, and then use the little charm Zenyatta had given him to open a portal using the power of the Iris, which Zenyatta had promised would come to him, strong from the close proximity to the frozen monastery…

Then, luck had looked his way.

A portal had opened in front of him, and Genji, despite being hidden from sight, had stumbled backwards, alarmed –had Talon decided to attack from this side?– only to see a face he had not expected come out of the portal.

Sanjay Korpal –a distinguished member of the Vishkar corporation, a group who had taken over the land with their impressive technology-based magic, expanding quickly in more than one market. Genji’s eyes widened at the realisation that Vishkar –maybe the entire corporation, maybe just a few of them– were part of Talon.

It seemed that Talon’s reach was larger than he or Zenyatta had anticipated, but…

Why was Sanjay alone, with only a small number of soldiers and a long-range sniper tagging along? Talon would not have sent so few members, and if Sanjay was highly ranked within Talon, he wouldn’t have gone alone –he would have sent someone else to do his bidding.

Genji’s eyes narrowed.

Unless, of course, all of Talon had appeared in front of Zenyatta instead.

The thought chilled him to the bone, and he had to bite down on his lower lip, hard, to stop himself from bolting and giving away his position, hands shaking with the impulse to drop everything and go find Zenyatta, taking deep, quiet breaths until he calmed down.

It still did not make sense for Talon to have sent only one member and such little backup, either way.

Something was up.

Waiting in tense silence, Genji watched Sanjay bark orders to his soldiers and to the sniper, following Widowmaker with his eyes as she made her way back inside the portal, while Sanjay started to prepare the field for a magic ritual.

Part of Genji wanted to attack him, and perhaps neutralize him so he would not continue with his job, but the portal was there, open for him, and he could not risk Sanjay closing it down, preventing Genji from slipping inside.

He had to go.

Slowly, he made his way to the portal and went in, exhaling softly in relief when he felt the magic of the Pathway wrap around him, soft like a caress. He felt the magic linger for a moment on the charm he’d tied around his neck, and Genji hoped the Pathway would not take that as payment from him for his trip through, as he needed all of Zenyatta’s Harmony for later, when he’d go join Zenyatta again.

After he passed through the portal, though, Genji’s attention snapped to what had appeared in front of him.

There was a caravan, waiting –two carriages abandoned in front of him, and standing a bit away from them was a small army.

The soldiers were sitting together, looking bored and annoyed, and Genji felt pity for them, even if they were with the enemy –he’d heard Sanjay’s words, his careless attitude for the soldiers that had followed him outside, and he remembered Zenyatta’s words. The soldiers might end up with the worst possible fate, though Genji could do nothing about it.

Trying to push that thought away, Genji focused on the carriages. If they were there, it meant Talon had carried what they needed with them –and it meant Genji’s important object was there, _so close_.

He took slow, even steps on the black path, eyes narrowing when he noticed there were two portals –one must have been connected to the front of the monastery, which meant it led to Zenyatta… and he was facing Talon, as they had expected.

Genji felt a prickle of anxiety, but he forced his heart to calm down, and instead of focusing on the worry, he considered what to do. If he found a way to close both portals, he would seal away Talon from the rest of their army and also from the objects they needed to complete the ritual –and keeping them separate would slow down their work, as well.

It also meant he would cut off the only way he had to reach Zenyatta once he had his object, but Genji, feeling the soft thrum of Zenyatta’s Harmony within his charm, knew he had to trust him and just continue with the plan.

The two portals were open close to one another, just a few feet separating them, and Genji had no idea what had forced them open, but he could see it was not natural. The portals opened by the Pathway magic were neat, the edges soft and brimming with light and energy, while these looked fabricated, green and dangerous.

He also had no idea how to close them, but that would not stop him.

With steady movements, trying to be as quiet as possible with the murmurs of the troops not that far from him, Genji knelt down on the black path and slowly rummaged through the bag he had on him.

In the year he’d spent travelling, he had amassed quite a bit of magical trinkets, since he had no idea what sort of opponent he would face for his memories.

Among them was the knife that could scratch out magical symbols, like he’d done with the ritual circle sealing Zenyatta away, and a rope that would get longer or shorter depending on its need, and other various things, and as he browsed through them, Genji could not find anything that could help him close the portals, except…

He held the knife in his hand. If it worked on symbols, perhaps it could disrupt the magic of the portals, as well.

Glancing at the troops, he made sure none was turned his way. They could not see him, but if it worked and the portals closed down, they would notice –and he needed to avoid that.

For a few more seconds, he hesitated, knife held high in front of him. He did not know how to go with it, so he decided to try the obvious way, even if it felt silly to consider –and with a sharp, quick jab, Genji stabbed the air in the middle of the portal.

With a soft, sputtering sound, the portal fizzled and started to close, shrinking around the blade. Startled at the fact that _it was working_, Genji removed his blade –and just like that, the portal surged outwards again, wobbling for a second before it stabilized.

Ah.

Genji stabbed it again, and this time despite worrying about being seen he kept his hand still, watching the green static ripple around the blade of his knife, buzzing, shrinking, trailing up to the handle…

And then it faded.

The portal was gone, leaving behind only a vague tingling feeling in his hand.

Well, that felt almost anticlimactic, but Genji would take it nonetheless. It felt good to know sometimes things worked out with little hassle.

The second portal, the one leading back to Sanjay, disappeared in the same way. The green lightening that kept it open fizzled out of existence, and this time Genji felt the air change a little around him.

Maybe he had been too tense to notice it when the first portal had closed down, but now he did –the magic around him was warmer now, as if the portals had been cooling it down.

Satisfied when the portals did not pop up again, and surprised that the troops had not noticed the disappearance of two sized holes in the air, he turned around.

The troops were turned the other way, mumbling and elbowing one another, sitting in a circle. They did not look like they knew what they were supposed to do, and looked relaxed to him, rather than tense. If they knew what the mission objectives were, it seemed weird they would be this calm.

Genji crouched down and slowly moved towards the carriages, catching fragments of conversations now that he was paying attention to their voices.

Talks about home, about siblings and parents, about food and books.

Things people spoke about every day.

Frowning, Genji wasted a few more seconds to just look at the soldiers, their casual slouching, the carefree attitude. They did not look like seasoned fighters –they looked like young recruits, barely out of training. People who had never seen battle.

Shaking his head, Genji turned towards the sniper. Sitting on the ceiling of the first carriage, she was staring into the golden nothingness, as if her eyes were trying to absorb all of it, and Genji wondered why she had not noticed him, or at least the disappearance of the portals, but the more he waited, staring at her, the less he understood.

Widowmaker never turned around, never looked away from the sparkles of gold within the magic of the Pathways.

With a shudder at her stillness, Genji inched even closer, worried that he would make a sound, or breathe too loudly, and she would hear him and turn around. He did not fancy facing the entirety of the troops stationed in the Pathways and the sniper on top of it, even if they seemed inexperienced…

He swallowed, and peered into the carriage she was sitting on.

It was empty.

Turning to look at the other carriage, feeling a little more secure as he inched towards it, Genji kept stealing glances at both Widowmaker and the soldiers.

It felt like things were going too well, too smoothly.

The Talon leaders were all absent –one preparing the field for a ritual, the others facing Zenyatta. All that was left here was a bunch of soldier and a sniper, and Genji felt almost cheated as his hand touched the carriage’s handle, pushing it down then tugging…

The door of the carriage creaked.

Genji froze.

Widowmaker’s head snapped back towards him, eyes refocusing, narrowed in sudden suspicion.

_Fuck_–

“Who’s here?” Widowmaker barked out, and she stood up, rifle slipping into her waiting hand. “Show yourselves!”

A few soldiers sitting close enough to hear her turned around to stare, confusion and panic filtering through their faces.

“Hey, the portals’ are gone–”

_Fuck_.

Widowmaker turned around, away from Genji, and he could see the way her face slacked as she realised that the two portals were not there anymore.

Genji was still holding his knife, and for a moment, he considered throwing it at her, or perhaps far away, to get her to look away so he could hide, but…

He _needed_ to get into the carriage.

Hand clenching around his knife, Genji prepared himself, tensing up–

Tendrils of smoke surged upwards from behind Widowmaker. They swirled together, a figure stepping out from them in a smooth movement. Still turned around, Widowmaker had not noticed, but Genji _had_.

The figure was tall, and weirdly familiar, with dark skin and… was that a hoodie? Genji squinted, and then the figure turned its head around, and Genji found himself staring into a pair of deep, crimson eyes.

With a wry, amused grin, Gabriel –the man who had been with the Oracle, opening the first Pathway for them– met Genji’s eyes squarely, and winked at him.

Gabriel could _see_ him…?

“Time to meet your maker,” he purred to him…

No. Not to Genji, but to _Widowmaker_.

Widowmaker snapped around, an undignified sound coming from her lips as she elbowed Gabriel, but he moved fast, hand wrapping around her wrist to disarm her.

Her attack went _through him_, part of his chest fading into smoke, and then he pushed her off the carriage.

She fell in a heap, rolling around and bouncing back on her feet.

Genji stared, mouth open wide, as Gabriel jumped off the carriage. As he landed, his feet faded into smoke and then reformed.

“Alert! Intruders!” Widowmaker screamed, and Genji twisted his head to look at the troops.

The soldiers stood up, scrambling into position, unsure of what to do without Talon there to shoot orders at them. Gabriel would not be able to go all alone against all of them–

“Why, yes.” Another familiar voice drawled out. “Though to be fair, the magic here clearly tells me that the real unwanted trespassers is you guys, not us.”

Looking up, Genji gasped, suffocating the surprised sound with a knuckle. On the other side of the soldiers, standing on the black path and looking perfectly at ease was Jesse, the other one who had been with the Oracle before.

With sudden screams of rage, the soldiers stood up straight and facing Jesse, who did not look perturbed despite the danger in front of him.

He took a step forwards, tipping his hat down on his eyes, and rolled a gun in his fingers with a smooth roll of his wrist. “Come on now, all of you against only one of me? That seems to be unfair, so… let us even the field a bit, right fellas?”

His body shifted so quickly yet so smoothly Genji at first believed it to be a trick of the light, or perhaps the magic of the Pathways.

Jesse’s hair and beard sprouted forwards, growing longer and rougher, out of control; his slouched pose changed as his body grew larger, knees sagging a bit under the new weight, legs widening their stance as his balance shifted to adapt to the changes. His remaining arm covered with fur, thick and coarse, and Genji’s eyes watched from afar as his hand twitched, nails growing longer, sharper… claw-like.

His entire body was shifting at once, and it did not do so in silence. His bones snapped, loud and sharp, and Jesse crouched forwards as his legs realigned anew, and –Genji noticed only then that Jesse had been barefoot, for his feet were now paws, covered in fur and larger than before.

Last to change was his tail, ripping out from his pants, and Genji found himself staring at a fully-transformed creature, fangs bared and pupils thin, grinning at the soldiers as if daring them to approach.

Genji blinked, taking note of how even his prosthetic arm had changes to match, magic and nanites working together so no part of him was left incomplete.

Jesse had come _prepared_.

The soldiers huddled back in fear, realising they were not dealing with just a random person with a gun –that, they could have faced– but with something worse… a _werewolf_.

And that made all the difference.

Through that, Gabriel had not allowed Widowmaker to go far –he’d shifted in front of them, and they were both glaring at one another, tense, reading each other’s motions in wariness.

“Oi, Genji!”

Genji’s head snapped back to Jesse, a shiver running down his back at seeing him so feral, ready to fight.

“I know you’re somewhere around here! Ana said you would be, it’s why we’re here as a backup!” Jesse grinned, sharp fangs glinting, eyes almost wild. “Don’t worry about these suckers, we’ve got you covered! Do what you have to! We’ve got your back!”

Gabriel laughed, thick and deep in his throat, and his fist grew shadowy as he reached out to snap the barrel of Widowmaker’s rifle in two.

“We sure _do_,” he hissed, and he might have been mostly human still, but his smirk was just as feral as Jesse’s was.

Genji felt a laughter bubble up his chest, and exhaled slowly, then gave Gabriel a small, curt nod and pushed the carriage door open with a flick of his wrist.

The noise was covered by the loud, sudden growl coming from Jesse’s throat.

“Come at me, then!” he said, and the snarl was as much for show as it was for the fun of it. “One against so many, shouldn’t you have it in the bag?”

“Always such a show-off,” Gabriel chuckled, and turned back to Widowmaker. “Now back to you, little spider…”

Without looking back, Genji slipped into the carriage, and closed the door behind himself.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Kneeling in front of the two wooden crates, Genji felt a wave of anticipation and anxiety swirling inside of him.

The carriage had a silencing seal placed on the wall near the door, meaning he could barely hear anything from outside. He was, effectively, alone. There was nothing else except for those crates –so Genji was sure, thanks to the Witch’s words, that whatever Talon had taken from him would be there, inside one of them.

Heart thundering in his chest, Genji pushed one of the crates open… and frowned.

There was a pot, there, cushioned so it would not break and surrounded by what appeared to be a thin, frail chain of silver. Genji wondered if this was what had been taken from him, and eagerly used his knife to scrape the seal off the jar, tugging it open. Within, swirling in water with golden speckles that smelled sweet, were seven vials, six of which were filled with a red, thick liquid.

Genji felt his insides churn at the sight, and closed down the jar.

If Talon was using blood to fight, it meant they would use this for the ritual Sanjay had been preparing, and for a moment, he wondered whether to take the blood with him or throw it away –thus making it unusable.

Perhaps this was what the Witch had meant, too…

Shaking his head, Genji was about to open the second crate when something collided heavily with the side of the carriage, causing it to shake.

He cursed, and in a flash he was back near the door, hand on the handle, ready to go outside…

And he halted.

Jesse and Gabriel had decided to stand by him for some reason, and he could not go back outside without completing what he was here for –it would make Zenyatta even more in danger, and no amount of hesitation within Genji would excuse Zenyatta getting harmed because of it.

Hands shaking, Genji clenched them into fists at his sides, and returned to the crate, ripping the lid off of it and peering inside.

The first thing he saw was another jar, and just below that, peeking from the depths of the crate, a weird glowing orb, the light of the same teal as Zenyatta’s forehead array while in his original appearance, and–

The voice that brushed past him, barely audible, made him freeze.

Whispers, so quiet he could not understand what they were saying, but there nonetheless –and as he moved whatever was within the crate, fingers brushing past a third jar, and then fur, the whispers grew in volume, even if they remained unintelligible to him.

The Witch had been right, something inside was calling for him–

Mouth parted to breath, cold sweat on his brow, Genji dug his hand deeper into the crate, seeking what was calling him, and his fingers wrapped around something, tugging it out.

A sword.

Not any sword, he realised, swallowing thickly.

A katana.

It fell into his grasp like it was meant to be, the hilt shaped like a claw, the pointy end resting against Genji’s wrist as he held it in front of him.

One move, and the blade could rip through his wrist, in a place where it would be hard to stem the flow of blood –dangerous, threatening.

A rope was tied around the entire blade, but the rope itself seemed translucent to him, like it was there and at the same time not, green and black, but the colour… it was not the same green as the edges of the portal Sanjay had opened, though it was similar, like it contained lightning itself, while the black was more like the impression of shadows dancing on its surface.

He touched the rope with his thumb, rubbing along the edges of it, but it almost seemed like there was no end to it, no knot, just a seamless, continuous swirl around the blade.

Trying to tug it off the katana resulted impossible –the rope did not budge.

Almost in a daze, Genji slumped back to fall on his ass, sitting near the crate, caressing the katana absently.

It was not familiar –nothing of it seemed like it was calling to him, but at the same time, the weight fell perfectly into his hand, the size, the shape… everything of it felt just _right_. Even the whispers in the back of his head had grown louder, lashing at him to do _something_.

The lump of metal, beautiful as it was, did not speak to him.

A blade that appeared to be clean, unused, the metal sharp and polished. Had Talon cleaned it? Surely, the Genji of before must have kept it in good condition, but no weapon such as this would be this perfect, as if it still had to be christened in battle…

Biting his lower lip, Genji pressed the tip of the blade, the only part of hit that the rope wasn’t covering, against the pad of his thumb, expecting it to slice through, but his finger slipped away unhurt.

It would not harm. It would not cut.

“How do I use you?” Genji murmured to the blade. “If it is you, if you were lost to me… how do I get you back?”

Something collided with the outside of the carriage, but this time Genji did not react, his attention unwavering.

The whispers grew like a storm inside his mind, and Genji’s heart raced, urgency filling his blood.

He had to do something –Zenyatta was waiting for him, he needed help… help Genji could not give him, not unless he figured out this puzzle.

He wielded the weapon, holding it straight in front of him towards the carriage’s door, and felt the prickle of the claw against the softest part of his inner wrist, resting there.

Carefully, he swished the blade through the air, watching the arc it described. If he used this in battle as it was, it would harm no one except maybe as a blunt weapon, but the only result would be slashing his own wrist.

Useless.

Except…

Genji narrowed his eyes, following the curve of the blade to its end. The rope shimmered and held on. He looked down to the hilt, and took a deep breath.

If he was wrong…

“But I am not,” Genji breathed, feeling a shiver run down his back. “I _know_ you. I know I don’t remember you, but I know you. And if you are mine… then I know what to do.”

His body moved on its own, shifting to a defensive position, legs apart just enough to give him freedom of movement, one arm slightly tilted behind him, the other straight ahead, and with a sharp, fierce motion, he slashed into the air, pushing the hilt of the katana against his wrist to get even more speed–

The claw pierced his skin.

Genji moved to a different kata, as fast as he could, and he slashed into the air again, then to the side, bringing the blade closer to his body in this dance, struck forwards again, and then faster he spun on his foot and jumped, steadfast and trusting his own body to remember, the katana rolling smoothly over the back of his hand only for him to grab it again and bring it down, slamming its tip on the floor of the carriage, breathing hard, eyes closed.

Blood trickled down his hand, on his fingers, on the claw of the hilt, staining his skin red, continued to drip down, past the hilt, and–

The blood reached the rope and touched it, and something happened. The blood seeped in, and the shadows shimmering on the surface froze at the contact, before swirling towards the blood, as if attracted by it, disappearing from the rope’s surface, drained into the darkening liquid, and then the rope glowed softly, once, then again, and without warning the rope uncoiled from the blade, dropping on the ground like it had been cut by an invisible hand.

Genji’s eyes snapped open to stare as the metal of the blade glinted green, the edge turning from dull to sharp under his gaze. His heart raced in his chest as he felt the pulsing pain of his throbbing wrist, but he didn’t care as he tugged the blade up to his face, eyes wide when the reflection the metal returned to him was not that of his face.

Lightning struck from the blade, and Genji saw white.

*~***~*

The woods felt wrong.

Around him, the forest seemed to sing, but it was a discordant song, thrashing around like decaying sound, stuttering into a halt the more he walked.

The trees seemed to close around him, suffocating when the sky was washed away fully by green leaves, and yet he continued on, ignoring the sensation burning in his guts.

Despair moved him, and no darkness would be enough to stall his pace.

“It is not smart of you to walk unguarded through my forest, stranger.”

Genji’s eyes snapped up, narrowed in distrust when he noticed the figure sitting casually on a branch above his head, feet swinging freely. She looked young –as he expected, from a woman who dabbed with magic older than both of them had been alive. The magic he sniffed on her was thick with power and thrumming under her skin, and to his tongue it felt alive, but not distasteful.

“You are the Witch,” he murmured, a throaty purr, and the Witch chuckled.

“That I am. And you are here for a deal, are you?”

“You have followed me.”

“Since you first stepped into the forest. This is my domain, and you are a trespasser. There is little going on in here that I don’t know about.”

“You made it feel so unwelcome. It is your doing.” Genji scoffed. “Do you not _want_ to make deals?”

“One has to truly be sure, before they commit to something that might bring them to their death. I do not receive gain from dead bodies.” The Witch sighed in boredom, twirling her hair in a finger, then pursed her lips. “Well. Except for some of them, of course.” And then she smiled, wide and happy, and Genji fought the urge to step back.

He had come here because there were no other options.

“Besides,” the Witch continued, and her tone dropped all pretense of happiness, “someone had to cleanse your trace from my grounds. You risk, coming to me like this –wounded, weak and in a hurry.”

Genji gritted his teeth, and his grip on his left arm, bleeding from the shoulder, tightened considerably as he shifted his body to favour that side.

“A difficult wound,” the Witch murmured. “I might have been able to heal that, before… but it has festered now, the darkness that attacked you has turned it impure. Not contaminated, but certainly changed enough that I would not be able to touch it.”

Exhaling his breath through his teeth, Genji glared up at her. “So you cannot help me?”

“I did not say that. I merely said I would not be able to cure your wound. Yet, it is not because of it that you seek my aid, dragon shifter.”

He stiffened, and the grip on his bleeding shoulder tightened further.

There was an ache deep inside his chest that was made worse by the long journey he’d had to do on feet, unable to transform and fly, and he was weary and exhausted.

Alone, he was, and without his clan, all of them dead, except for one –where was his brother? Had he perished alone, hunted down like a lowly beast, or had he survived? Genji had no idea, but the thought tortured him.

He had been also chased like a prey, slowly but surely cornered, and the last attack had happened so fast Genji had been unable to protect himself, stuck where his scales had yet to regrow.

The poison he felt spreading inside him felt cold yet burning at the same time, and that had made him sloppy.

Genji hadn’t even heard the Witch appear above him, and that was testament enough of his desperate need.

“You know what I am,” Genji hissed. His bared teeth were less intimidating when wearing his human skin, but the steely glint of his eyes had been more than enough to threaten many.

The Witch barely reacted, and even then, it was to scoff. “You broadcast yourself with screams so loud any person with a lick of sense could discover such secret, dragon. You are wounded, but even poisoned your blood has _power_.”

“They call themselves Talon,” Genji spat the name with distaste, and refused to look away from the Witch. She was still sitting above him, a position of power –she wished to continue this farce, have him admit he’d been the one to come begging, and Genji’s pride hissed in anger, even though he knew that was exactly what he had done. “They have attacked my family, all over the land. They have killed the last of my blood, and my blood only. They knew who we were.”

“How many?” the Witch’s mirth vanished, and her eyes turned cold.

“Six.” Genji felt a jolt of pain, one that did not come from his wound but rather from the memory of the loss. He had felt it, through that connection their family shared, the flames of life snuffed out one by one by unfamiliar hands. “My brother was attacked, though he managed to run away with his life and power intact, but since then, our connection was broken. I fear I will never find him again, and… Talon turned their sights on me.”

“You are young,” the Witch murmured, a touch of pity in her tone. “Strong, but young. They chased you until you could not run.”

“They track me down, and I do not have the strength to face them alone. Not like this. I come for a deal, Witch –a deal that can save my life.”

The Witch slid off the branch, and fell right in front of Genji, straightening up her back to look right into his eyes, ignoring his stiff flinch.

“It would be difficult,” she murmured, stare intense. “You have little hope, dragon. Poison circles in your veins, weakening you. They seek to steal your powers, and without them, your life.”

“You… you know what they are doing?” a jolt of surprise, of _hope_, filtered through Genji’s senses, pushing his wariness down.

“I know of Talon. They have sought me out in the past, and I have refused them. They were less than pleased.” The Witch’s eyes dropped towards his arm. “One droplet of your blood, and I will scry for you, dragon shifter.”

Stiffening, Genji took a step back. Talon was dangerous, but the Witch, in all her deceivingly weak appearance, made him feel on edge. “You have had plenty of that. Did you not say I’ve bled all over your forest?”

The Witch chuckled at him, amused rather than insulted. “Yes, but that was free, was it not? You did not care where you bled, or what happened to it. You wanted to find me.”

Genji clamped down on the anger he felt and breathed deeply once, then again, until the rage simmered again. He could not fault the Witch from using what he’d so carelessly given away.

Without answering, he thrust out at her the hand he’d been using to hold his shoulder, stained with his blood. It showed just how tired he was, because the grip he had on his human skin shifted and weakened, revealing his sharp claws and the scales on his hand and wrist.

The Witch leaned forwards, and brushed her fingertip over the blood, then licked it off her finger.

Her eyes glowed pink, so deep it made her irises disappear, and the hum of magic around them both grew thicker, stronger. Genji refused to back down, even if the pressure of it made him feel like he was choking.

“Unfortunate,” the Witch murmured, almost in a daze. “You have been betrayed, and you have come too late. There is no chance for you to save yourself… the poison is drawing your magic to the surface, slippery, thrumming –so it can be taken from you.”

Ice stole Genji’s breath.

No chance.

“No,” he hissed. “I came here for a chance! I will not allow them to slay me the same way they slayed my family!”

Anger surged within him, scorching hot, pushing down the icy cold fear that had taken hold of his heart, and his magic surged in answer, wrapping around him like a blanket –even if he could feel it, the taint within, growing.

“I do not want to die!” he slammed his fist into the closest tree, and felt a curl of satisfaction when it shook under his hit, leaves and berries dropping around them.

The Witch was still reeling from the power surge of his blood, and she slowly circled him. With sharp eyes, he followed her, unmoving, chest heaving as more of his blood dripped down his shoulder.

“A chance,” she murmured, tone full of wonder. “Just a chance, hmmm?”

“A chance,” he breathed, desperate.

“A chance to survive… or a chance for revenge?”

That stumped Genji, and he blinked. “I…” then, her words penetrated through the fog of his mind, and he realised what she had said. He had been _betrayed_. Someone had told Talon where to find his family, how to wound them, how to kill and harvest from them. The rage surged up again, and he gritted his teeth. “Both,” he growled and his voice deepened, turning more like that of his dragon skin than his human self. “A chance to survive, and fight those who harmed me and my own.”

She nodded, sharp and understanding, and her lips pulled upwards. “I can give you that… but it will be nothing more than a chance. You have power, little dragon, but you are alone. And weakened. Your chances, were Talon to find you now, would be zero. They would steal your blood and your energy and your magic, and that would kill you. It is how they got your brethren –without magic to sustain your soul, dragons are weakened, and they perish.”

“And… and with your help?”

“…” the Witch grew quiet. Pondering. She snapped her fingers and extended her hand, and with a flare of power, her broom came to her, shifting in appearance to become a staff. “One single chance. A toss of a coin.”

Genji licked his dry lips.

“But it could still end in defeat, even with my help,” the Witch continued, tapping her chin. “Though it is better than your chances as is. I offer you a coin toss against a rigged draw –and after that, it will be all in your hands.”

It was… disappointing. Genji clenched his hands again, feeling helpless. He’d travelled so far while wounded, only to be told that his chances could only increase this little, but at the same time…

Either death, or survival –against certain death.

He could not deny the improvement.

“What do I need to do?”

The Witch tapped her staff on the ground. A circle of magic surged up where it had touched the grass, white and pink in colour and glowing, symbols surrounding it.

“As you are, your body will not survive once the magic is out of you. I cannot stop them from stealing it away –first they poison your blood, then they chain you down, and the process has already started for you… it is unavoidable.” The Witch stared at the glowing circle for a moment, lips pursed. “Which means we need to make your body able to withstand its loss.”

“How?”

“You will give your memories –every single one. They will be taken from you, removed from your body, until nothing is left that connects your human skin to your dragon one. They will make a rope to bind your power, so when stolen it will not be used until you reclaim it.”

Her words were final, and strong, but all Genji could feel was a sudden drop inside his chest.

“… my memories…?”

“You cannot remember you are a dragon, for a dragon will die without its power… but if you fool yourself and believe yourself to be human… you have a chance.”

“But!” Genji fumbled with his words, sluggish now that the surge of adrenaline was ebbing. “How will I get my power back, if I don’t remember?”

“That is not in my power to know.”

“Then how can I be sure I will get my revenge, Witch?!”

“You cannot be sure. I cannot offer you certainty, dragon. I can only offer you a single chance. Past that, it is all in your hands.”

Genji stumbled back, eyes wide, and turned around to avoid staring at the Witch and her solemn face.

Lose his memories.

The memories of his family, of his brother –who had been chased but had ran away, a brother who was the only one Genji had left, and who was wounded, and alone, their connection broken.

The memories of his life, of every person Genji had ever met, friends and foes alike.

Without memories, he would not be able to protect himself. He would be alone, and defenceless, with no magic, only his human skin left to him.

“If I give up my memories, I will not be able to find my brother again,” he breathed out, horrified at the thought, “if I ever saw him, I would not recognize him…”

“But he would recognise you,” the Witch murmured to him, placating.

“But how could I know where to search, how to find Talon again? If they have my powers, they will break the rope and use them–”

“They will not –for this is our deal, and my deals are absolute.”

Genji felt restless, despite the blood loss and the fatigue, and he started pacing, the Witch’s eyes trained on him as he moved.

His memories, for a single chance to live.

And it might not even work –that was a possibility, too. That he would give his memories away, and then die without even knowing who he was, or why he’d been attacked.

Yet he would die nonetheless without a deal, and a chance was still a chance.

He turned back to her. “I will be still alone. How can I do this?”

“You might not be,” the Witch said, with a shrug. “Talon has sought to harm many, me included. If you happen to find your way back to me, I will tell you the truth. Consider it… a payment for the blood you spilled on my domain.”

“What if Talon gets to you, as well?”

“They will not. My domain will keep them away, and I will hide deep within it, and carry it with me as I move. You mistake this forest as a place that cannot change… but that is not true. Any forest I reside into becomes my domain, and my domain becomes anywhere I choose to live. Until Talon is no more a danger, I shall not linger. I shall not stay.”

“I…” his voice faltered, and Genji had to clear his throat and try again, “I will do it.”

“Well then,” the Witch sounded happy. “Now, for your payment.”

Genji’s gaze snapped to her face. “My memories…?”

“They are not your payment to me, dragon shifter. They are the security net that will prevent Talon from using your power, thus making it impossible for you to get it back. You will need to pay me for the deal.”

“… alright.”

“In case of success –that is to say, if you survive,” the Witch said, tapping her finger against her chin, “your payment will be the chain.”

“The… the chain Talon will use on me?”

“Yes. It is a special chain, the more powerful because of the countless dragons it caused to die. I want that.”

Genji balked, gritting his teeth. “You would ask me for a tool that destroyed so many of my kind?!”

“It would be the perfect courting gift,” the Witch said, and when Genji’s eyes snapped to her face, he could see a softer grin there, something gentler. “It would not be used to slay any more dragons, that much I can promise.”

That… took the wind out of Genji’s sails, and his shoulders slumped in surprise.

A courting gift.

“I…”

“Of course, there is an equal chance for you to die –either now, or later,” the Witch continued, preventing him from speaking. “In that case, my payment will be different –you will allow me, and no one else, to harvest your body.”

Shivering at the request, Genji paled.

Dragon bodies were sacred –there was a strong magic that surrounded them after death, preventing anyone from stealing from their bodies, even when no soul lived within their confines anymore. Of course, even when wearing their human skin while dying, dragons would revert back to their dragon one, but rarely would dragons allow others to take from them.

Dragon hide was coveted for its strength, for the ability to withstand almost anything –Genji had been hurt through betrayal, hunted down like cattle, wounded and then poisoned when he was in his human form. Had he been a dragon, the attack would have likely been unsuccessful.

Dragon teeth and scales and claws were used to sharpen weapons or to make weapons, mounted on hilts, the strands of dragon magic that remained within them protecting the users from minor hexes or curses.

And of course, Genji knew that in certain markets, even dragon organs had incomparable value.

“In the case of your death, I would require a gift of equal value to present, if I wish my courtship to be successful,” the Witch finished, a wry grin on her lips.

“It must be a valiant man the one who stole your attention enough you ask a living dragon for his slain body as a gift,” Genji grunted, unsettled.

Yet, he could understand. If he ever had a potential mate, he would bestow upon them the most beautiful gifts for courtship, for a heart was the most precious possession, even for a dragon, and the bodies of a thousand enemies would be nothing compared to that.

“Actually, the heart of the Witch belongs to no man,” the Witch corrected him with a wink.

“A lady, then.” For a moment, as he chuckled at her words, Genji felt the worry of his impending death less pressing, and was able to breathe.

“Well… I would not call her lady, really… but yes.” It seemed like the Witch understood, because she moved forwards, placing one hand very gently on the shoulder that was not wounded. “Your fate is not in my hands, dragon –but perhaps, working together, your enemies shall have to work harder to gain what they covet.”

He nodded, his resolve strengthening.

“Then you have my word, Witch. In exchange for my memories, to wrap around my power so no one will be able to use… for my life, for a chance to survive, you will have the chain used to bring forth my demise –or if I die, my body will be at your disposal. A dragon’s word is final.”

The circle underneath the Witch’s staff glowed brightly, pink and white mixing with the pure green of Genji’s own magic, and then it expanded, enveloping both of them.

“So it shall be,” the Witch stated clearly, as binding magic swirled around them, “The payment has been accepted –the deal is made.”

*~***~*

For a moment, Genji was weightless.

His soul stretched out past the boundaries of his body, expanding, and for that one moment Genji was at ease.

Memories slowly filtered back to him, filling blanks within his mind and soul, flashes of faces of loved ones, of enemies, of rivals and friends, places he’d seen, foods he’d tasted, the feeling of soaring into the sky, carefree and happy, of somersaulting among the clouds.

The colour of his mother’s hair, the sound of her voice.

His brother’s face, the first memory he had of his father and mother, racing his brother on the ground, only to change mid-step and fly to chase him, memories of training together, finding the weapon within his soul, sharp like his tongue.

Watching as one of his cousins was slain by Talon –watching as Hanzo was struck next, only to have him escape. Feeling his connection with Hanzo snap, broken beyond repair by Talon’s doing, the rage and the pain of not knowing whether he was alive or not.

Talon coming for him next.

Betrayed by someone close, who’d sold him and his family for power, or money, or both.

The memories slotted themselves within him and Genji accepted each and every one, feeling the sheer, deep relief as things he’d always wanted to know returned to him, answering all the desperate questions he’d asked to himself over and over again.

Floating within his own mind, eyes closed, Genji found himself again.

The whispers that had been calling for him now had names –the memories of his family calling his name, begging him to come back.

Tears streaming down his cheeks, Genji opened his eyes, feeling bigger than his body the more memories came back, as if he was trying to burst free.

He reached out into the magic, desperate, wanting the sensation to stop… and something reached back, green flashing at the edge of his vision, coming towards him, swimming in golden magic, body long and sinuous, with silver fur on top of a long head, elongated muzzle filled with sharp razor teeth and ruby eyes almost glowing as they met his own.

It was…

Himself.

His dragon form, coming towards him–

Genji stretched out, arms wide, tears in his eyes, and welcomed it back.

Returning to reality was like awaking after a long, restless sleep.

Eyes fluttering open, Genji found himself staring down at the sword he was holding, a line of dried out blood on his wrist, now healed, and a raw, familiar power cursing through his veins, just below his skin, filling him to the brim.

The rope was gone, vanished into the magic of the Pathway, and Genji felt his skin prickle as he stood up, poised and so full he felt about to burst.

“I am back,” he rasped out, voice dry and rough, and he absently wiped his eyes from the tears he’d shed.

Laughter bubbled from inside him, starting with the quiet shake of his shoulders only to end with him doubled down, holding his waist as he laughed and cried again, relief so strong it stole his breath.

He was alive. The coin toss had been in his favour, and now…

Genji Shimada, last of a long line of dragon shifters, was back.

With that knowledge came another, and the laughter bubbling within him popped again, giddiness filling his core.

Zenyatta.

Zenyatta was waiting for him –and now Genji had the strength to help him, and put an end to Talon.

Standing up, Genji felt mirth fall from him like a mantle, leaving behind only determination as he stared down at the crates.

Slowly, he ripped off his headscarf, and rummaged around into the crate, grabbing all the orbs that he knew were Zenyatta’s mala. There were only nine, so he hoped he had not missed one as he wrapped them inside the headscarf, securing them so they would not fall out.

What else he saw inside the crate, he looked away, angry at how much Talon had stolen from others –the magic he smelled from every object tasted like violence and theft.

He could recognize what the vials were now, and the dragon within him roared in anger and pain.

With slow, deliberate movements, Genji grabbed the pot and emptied it on the floor of the carriage, swallowing thickly when he saw the vial that should have contained his blood –or his brother’s– and that was left empty.

The others he held in his hand, eyes closed as he mourned, a deep quiet growl coming from his throat, for the family that had given their lives for naught.

Then he uncorked the vials, and dripped the blood onto his katana, the swirling colours of dragon magic seeping into the blade, fortifying it –for if Genji was going to get his revenge, he would make sure his family would be part of it.

“I’m coming, Zenyatta,” Genji murmured.

The change took over his body in an instant.

Unlike werewolves, whose change happened slowly, dragon shifters were faster –like draping a mantle over their bodies and then removing it, magic surrounded Genji’s body, and instead of a human figure, a dragon took its place, the weapon merging with his body.

Bigger, stronger, with iridescent green skin and scales, eyes blood red and a sinuous body, Genji’s body smashed into the sides of the carriage and erupted from it like a fury, sending pieces of wood and metal flying everywhere, and stretched in all his length.

Around him, the battle had almost ended, Jesse growling at three of the enemy soldiers, while Gabriel, looking as dignified as before, was standing over Widowmaker, tendrils of smoke holding her down.

When the carriage exploded, both turned around to look at him, and at the sight of the dragon towering over them, the remaining soldiers cowered and fell on their knees, accepting defeat.

Genji surveyed the view, and the magic of the Pathway wrapped around him, singing in welcome.

The soldiers were all on the ground, and he was surprised to see none of them was dead –just unconscious.

He turned his eyes towards Jesse, then to Gabriel, and was grateful to see neither had been harmed.

“Go get your monk, Genji,” Jesse yelled at him, lifting one fist in salute. “Had no idea you were hiding all that scaly green under that headscarf, but it suits you!”

Genji laughed, the giddiness of having returned to his true self making him reel. “Same could be said about you, werewolf! Perhaps too much fur, but it’s fitting!”

He crouched and then jumped, and his body flew upwards, away from the black path, headscarf and mala safely held in his front claws. Dragons did not really need wings, when their magic could hold them up, and here, with air thick with magic already, Genji felt at home.

“Take all the objects in that crate,” he told the two, who’d already started to move towards the remains of the carriage, “there might be something useful there.”

Jesse offered him a small wave, and with that Genji soared even higher, pushing with his tail and hinder legs, and fell headfirst into the magic surrounding the Pathway.

It burned, but not in a way that hurt –it burned like drinking liquor in a cold evening, stomach full with food. It burned like a warm fire tickling freezing fingers inching too close to the flame. It burned like a welcoming embrace after crying yourself silly, like sunrise after a long night.

Genji opened himself up to the magic.

Before –before losing his memories, before coming close to his death– he had never truly appreciated, or felt, the magic that the Pathways were made of.

It was magic, and Genji had never been good, or interested, in knowing there was more to it than that. Dragons had magic, and that was all that he needed to know, but now…

Now, with a year as a human behind him, and weeks spent by Zenyatta’s side, and the thrumming power of his family’s blood within him, Genji knew better.

He could feel the strands of power that twisted together tightly within the Pathways –a collection of all the magic of all creatures of the land, a connection between all of them. He felt, among them and strongest, the Iris, burning brightly every time he closed his eyelids and twirled into the stream of it, a caress that was achingly familiar and welcoming, and one that urged him forwards.

He flew further up, into the magic, let himself go and roared, and in front of him a portal burst open.

Genji exploded out of the portal like a bullet, and found himself in mid-air, floating far above the monastery.

Underneath him, the buildings were still frozen, but this high up, he could see the empty halls and corridors and the gardens, frozen in time and void of life, and the strands of power and magic that kept it all together.

There was something dark on one side, a glimpse of a half-painted circle at the edge of the monastery grounds, and for a moment Genji almost twisted to fly that way, and then–

Dark thoughts, and darker still, slammed into him.

Losing grasp of his flying, Genji dropped for a moment, gasping, teeth bared in a snarl, and then he adjusted himself and flew down, closer to the tallest parts of the monastery, still rattled but calm again.

He’d felt Discord, so thick and deep it seeped into him despite the charm Zenyatta had given him, and it ate away whatever happiness Genji had felt in finding his memories again.

It hit him only moments later what this meant, and with a low, furious growl, he spun around and flew towards the main entrance of the monastery, his heart burning with rage, almost bursting out of him in lightening and flames.

Distantly, a part of him that was still rational understood the rage and its origins –as a dragon, he’d already recognized Zenyatta as a mate, the one he wished to court, the one he wished to own and belong to, and he _knew_ that he was hurting, that the discord was eating him, and he _hated_ it.

The dragon part of him was raging, and ready to destroy. The human part, worried, tried to take control–

And then he saw it.

Zenyatta was on his hands and knees, shaking and trembling, his curled up form trapped within the black lines of a magic circle. Oil and blood and ink were spread around him, chaining him down, and in front of him at a safe distance were two Talon members –a tall, buff omnic and Sanjay. Behind Zenyatta, one who seemed to be a soldier, shaking and trembling, skin grey and dead, tears rolling down his face, petrified. Genji did not need to be close to smell the fear off of him.

They had trapped Zenyatta in a tri-pointed seal.

If Genji had thought he was furious before, the rage he felt now, bubbling up to the surface, making him seethe, was even worse.

He remained frozen in mid-air, burning so strongly he felt he would combust, and the waves of Discord grew even stronger. As he blinked, he watched as tendrils of purple shot around Zenyatta’s frame, engulfing him, seeping into every crevice of his body, like his metal was absorbing it, and in front of him the two Talon members seemed to push against the air–

The ritual.

Without their precious objects, cut off from the Pathway, Talon was using _Zenyatta_ as a container, attempting to cage the Iris within his frame.

And like that, something snapped inside Genji.

The fury he had felt until then cooled, turning into ice, and as he exhaled through gritted teeth, mist rolled out from his mouth, scalding hot, fire building up inside his throat like poison.

He dropped down, arms and legs slamming into the ground, making dust and rocks fly everywhere, and Sanjay and the omnic faltered and stumbled back as Genji placed himself between them and Zenyatta, baring his teeth and roaring deep in his throat at them, eyes glowing red.

Crouching low, he emitted another gust of hot breath, fire licking at his mouth, wanting to come out.

“_Stay away from him_,” he growled.


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was, officially, the last chapter. There's an epilogue coming though!  
I think this ending leaves a good opening for a possible sequel (which i would actually like to consider writing at one point haha) which makes me really happy for such a long project :D (plus, like, genji'd probably like to go find hanzo)

**Chapter 11**

At first, it had seemed that Zenyatta’s plan might work.

Genji was gone with his charm, and would wait for a bit, allowing Zenyatta to lure his enemies to him, before slipping away to search for the object the Witch had assured would turn the tides of their fight –and Talon had come for Zenyatta, just as he had hoped.

Facing them, defeating one of them, Zenyatta had thought that perhaps he would be able to hold his own until Genji’s return.

He had been mistaken.

The first Talon enemy, Akinjide, had been defeated because neither of them had expected Zenyatta to be this powerful. They had underestimated him, and Akinjide had paid for this. Whether he was alive or not, he was gone and hopefully wounded enough he would not come back.

Unfortunately for Zenyatta, the other Talon leader, Strix, had learned from this.

With Zenyatta already reeling from the Discord he had used without the help of his mala, he had been at disadvantage, even if he had seen the way Strix had bowed under the increasing pressure of Discord building in the air.

He had hoped it would be enough to keep Strix away for fear of being affected further, and so Zenyatta could regain some of his energy.

Unfortunately, Strix used his own life force to fight –oil, to represent what blood was for humans– to fight, and had at his disposal enough of his soldiers left that he did not _need_ to get any closer.

Blood powers –or rather, oil powers, as it was– were frightening, and Zenyatta had been forced on the defense quickly, using his omnic energy to par the incoming attacks, trying to force the Discord to lessen its grasp on him before it was too late, but then Strix had used this to press on, taking actively part in the battle, and Zenyatta had been left reeling, unable to take on a more offensive stance when half of his power was raw and fighting against him as well.

He had still managed to hold on his own until Strix had lost every single one of his sacrificial pawns against him, and then…

And then, the other Talon leader had arrived, followed by a few ill-looking soldiers, using light-portals –Vishkar built. It did not surprise Zenyatta that Talon had managed to acquire their help.

Sanjay had not even needed to fight –his appearance had simply given Strix more ammunition. He had hurled one of the scared, pained soldier right towards Zenyatta, covered in his oil, and the blades had surged up, far too close for Zenyatta to stop.

The oil had seeped into his circuits, magic clashing with Zenyatta’s own, his body burning up as Strix tried to take control of him.

The Discord had swelled up within him, cold against the burning of Strix’s magic, and Zenyatta had fought a solitary battle against himself.

Clashing inside him, the poisoned oil and Discord swelled to take over him, and Zenyatta had almost drowned in it, weakened by the harsh fight, coming through only by the fact that both powers fought one another as well, and he only had to side with one to win.

He had survived, the oil purged from his system –but the moment he’d been able to focus outside of his own body again, he’d realised the trap had been set.

Part of his inner circuitry had been compromised by the rapid temperature changes, and while he’d been choking on it, Sanjay had placed around him a containment seal, trapping him inside it.

Then, there had been pain.

A pressure unlike any he had felt before had pushed him down to the ground, and the Discord he had commanded had been sealed inside him, unable to come out, and then more continued to swell inside him, heavy and thick and _endless_.

Zenyatta had curled on himself, his mind trembling as something within him was forced open by the magic Strix and Sanjay had poured into the ritual. A hole had parted and he had gazed into an abyss –and the abyss… the _Iris_, had gazed back.

Raw, and impossible, and enormous, a swirling hole of gold and purple and white and black, so deep his mind had faltered at the sight.

Zenyatta had tried to turn away, but the magic kept him still, body slowly freezing over as the Discord pooled around him, within him, seeping inside his body to fill every inch of it.

Talon was attempting to use him as a vessel, attracting the Iris to the body of someone who had used it, who could wield it, and–

Zenyatta had fought back.

With every inch of his magic refusing the assault, Zenyatta had fallen deeper, plunging directly into the source of the Iris, his soul but a tiny spark among the nothingness, reaching out for something to hold onto so he could fight against the magic coalescing around him, only to find slippery nothing, hands meeting wisps of smoke and air.

Time stopped making sense –he couldn’t even feel his body anymore, sensors frozen, he could only float, overwhelmed at the sensation of the Discord pressing into him against his will, against _its_ will.

There was no Harmony, pushed back by Talon’s ritual, no golden glow –only the deepest purples lashing out at his mind, constricted in a space too tiny for them to exist.

If it continued, Zenyatta knew, he would snap under the pressure, squeezed under an impossible weight–

So he fought back.

He stretched his senses into the abyss, against the barriers Talon had settled around him, using every inch of his magic to push back, and had felt on the other side, the Iris attempt to reach for him.

The Harmony was there, unable to get through, unable to help, angered it had been caged, angered at Talon’s attempts to chain it down, but the more anger built, the less gold it was, and Zenyatta felt a lurch in his core.

This would not work –the Harmony could be turned, Discord used against itself, and Zenyatta refused, with something akin to despair, to allow himself to be harnessed against the Iris.

Even alone, he could not.

_No_, his soul whispered. _Not alone_.

He had to believe Genji would come.

Slowly, with what little energy he had left, Zenyatta shifted away from the golden light, his soul falling back into the darkness of Discord, opening himself up to it.

This time, he did not fight it –he welcomed it, and against its onslaught, he latched on the memory of Genji’s face, the tilt of his lips as they joked around, the way his eyes seemed to sparkle in amusement, the way he sometimes looked at Zenyatta, soft and yearning, like…

A small, frail flicker of golden lit within him.

It was barely warm against the freezing cold that surrounded him, processes ticking so slowly they were almost frozen solid, but it was warmth, and it was glowing in the dark, trembling but stable, and Zenyatta curled his soul around him, holding onto it.

Genji’s voice calling him by his name, their carefree flirting, the way Zenyatta’s soul had danced whenever Genji looked at him, the hesitant, embarrassed offer to remain by his side, afterwards–

Zenyatta held tightly, even as he felt the Discord push against him, irremovable, continuous, and through the onslaught the tiny, shaky little flame of Harmony held on.

And then, so sudden he’d been shocked by it, the darkness around him had crumbled, pieces of light shining through, and a deep, vibrating sound burned through his senses.

Zenyatta reacted and reached out, translucent arms stretched towards the light, carrying within him the little Harmony fragment, and the light reached back, so warm against his freezing limbs that it _burned_, and–

Hands held his faceplate, very gently, as Harmony poured inside him, soothing the cold, soothing the pain, like a balm, like the caress of a mother, and Zenyatta choked on it as the Iris embraced him.

“–yatta!”

Sound and colour bled into Zenyatta’s senses, and his synth made a croaky noise as he jolted.

The stream of _everything_ happening so suddenly startled Zenyatta, and it felt as if coming to the surface after a long swim, his body aching and thrumming, synapses flaring with input.

For what felt like hours, Zenyatta gasped with the overload, sensors oversensitive and throbbing, optical receptors blurry, auricular receptors slowly calibrating over a sudden tinnitus whistle.

Then, sensation returned to his servos and circuits, and Zenyatta’s processors started to analyze the flow of information again.

His servos trembled, and he tried to focus, but the swirling Discord and Harmony within him were distracting, spinning and bubbling under the surface. He felt like they were filling him to the brim, brushing against the surface of his metal from the inside, wanting out, a maelstrom waiting to happen.

Talon had tried to trap the Iris within him to use him as a vessel for it, a weapon –and now, that weapon could unleash that power upon those who had wished to hold him down and abuse of it.

With difficulty, Zenyatta concentrated on his surroundings.

Something enormous and green was wrapped around him, tightly, and Zenyatta’s optical receptors, after a few moments of useless readjusting, finally focused.

He was crouching on the ground, but rather than the magic ritual that had trapped him, now he saw the iridescent scales of a dragon curled up around him, keeping him safe, the dragon’s magic drenched in Harmony.

A growl vibrated through the dragon’s body, and Zenyatta’s hand, shaking, moved to touch his side.

Even if he had barely felt it before, and only due to the vague remnant it had left in its absence, he recognised the magic’s feeling right away, and was left in awe.

“G… G-enj-i?”

“Zenyatta!” the warmth that flooded him made Zenyatta gasp, senses open and raw and unable to filter the joy and the love that wrapped around him.

The voice was deeper than Genji’s human one, but the timber was the same, the cadence identical, and Zenyatta’s optical receptors fell shut for a moment as he allowed relief to wash over him.

“You came back,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry I allowed you to get hurt.” The pain in his tone was discordant enough that Zenyatta’s hand gripped on his side, fingers brushing scales. “I’m sorry it took me so long, but… I am back, Zenyatta.”

“It is not your fault, my dear,” as he spoke, he felt some of his energy come back, the Iris still pouring its healing magic into his body, slowly fixing his broken circuits and his melted inner machinery. “So… you are a dragon shifter.”

“Yes.”

Zenyatta looked past the coils surrounding him, and saw, standing away from them, Strix and Sanjay staring back. Sanjay’s face was contorted in anger and wariness, but the waves of anger coming from Strix’s stiff pose spoke of his emotions just as well.

Genji’s body had disrupted the circle surrounding him, allowing the Iris’ harmony to reach through the blocks, freeing him, and though the gaping hole within himself was still there, pouring power and energy within him, it was not restraining him anymore.

“Have I hurt you, Genji?” he asked, and Genji’s shoulders shook in silent laughter.

“No. I carry your charm, and the effects are further muted by my thick skin.” It felt weird to watch a smile on a dragon’s face, and not think of it as threatening, but Zenyatta only felt warmth filling him. “No amount of darkness could withstand the rage I felt seeing you harmed.”

Had Zenyatta been a little more stable, he might have felt flustered by the steady love in that voice. “I see.”

“Are you able to stand, Zenyatta?” Genji murmured.

“I… think so.”

“I brought back your mala.”

A spark of contentment made Zenyatta sigh. “Thank you.” Then, his forehead array burned brightly, and Zenyatta shifted under the weight of Genji’s longer, heavier body. “I will need them to face Talon.”

“Are you sure you can–”

“Genji.” The chiding in his tone had Genji wince. “It is as much your battle as it is mine. Let us finish this. Together.”

The wave of joy he felt coming from Genji was almost enough to make him stumble under its strength.

“Yes,” Genji growled, the threat in his tone dripping like poison, “together.”

Slowly, Zenyatta stood. His legs wavered for a moment, then grew steady as he straightened up, and omnic energy flared from within him –and from the ground at his feet, something answered.

Nine orbs spun around him in joyous circles, reconnecting with him, and the flood of power within Zenyatta seemed to stabilize and sharpen, lessening the weight.

With them back at his side, Zenyatta felt finally at ease.

Without looking back, Zenyatta exhaled an artificial breath. His turban had fallen off somewhere, his clothes in disarray and ripped and dirty, but none of it mattered. “Genji?”

The dragon stood on his legs, growling, and his massive frame remained by his side, tail swishing madly behind him. “Yes, Zenyatta?”

“Would you still consider being by my side even now that you have your memories back?”

With a flash, Genji was back to his human form, a katana held in his hand, tip pointed towards Strix and Sanjay. “Always,” he said, almost breathlessly, even if he did not look at him, “if you would have me?”

“I would,” Zenyatta purred, core fluttering. “Even if you wished to travel far, I would want to follow you, so we could walk upon this earth together.”

“Good,” Genji grinned, feral and happy, and his frame buzzed with energy, magic burning at his fingertips. “I wish for nothing else.”

“Then let us speak of it no more, and focus on what stands in front of us.”

They turned to look, aware that Strix and Sanjay had yet to speak.

Strix’s body language was tense, and Zenyatta’s senses, still raw and open, could feel the distress rolling off of him in waves, and Sanjay’s emotions were obvious, but the one who felt truly scared was the man behind them, the last of the soldiers to be alive.

Zenyatta felt almost sorry for him –he was shaking and crying and hyperventilating, had been forced to stand as third-point for the ritual, all the while fighting with the Pathway curse eating him from the inside, and now he was on the verge of exhaustion, eyes wide and glassy as he stared at Genji.

The sight of a dragon shifter had been too much.

He knew it was stupid to feel pity for an enemy, and yet, Zenyatta did feel bad. The man had been used since the start, with no hope to survive, and it made him angry to think about it.

Exhaling softly, Zenyatta tilted his head down, and with a gentle touch on Genji’s shoulder, he turned around.

The man’s head snapped up to stare at him as he moved closer, and Zenyatta was aware that behind him, Sanjay and Strix had both stiffened, wary, to watch what he would do.

“You are a victim here,” Zenyatta murmured, his senses trained on the man. “But you have stood by Talon while they attempted to cage me, and the power I wield. You stand to be judged by a god, soldier.”

The man stiffened. His skin was ashen, and it was a marvel he had survived this long. His shoulders shook, and his hands dug into the ground –but surprisingly, he did not look away from Zenyatta.

“I’m so-sorry,” he bit out, barely able to form a sentence. “I w-was just a spok-esperson… b-but I don’t want to be a-a weapon.”

Zenyatta hummed, understanding what he meant –Strix power had used all of his mates, turning them into literal weapons with his oil, and this man had watched it happen, only to have to bow and be used as well, following orders.

After all, what choice did he have?

“Do you wish to attack me?” he asked. The thrum of the Iris within him grew, straining against him.

“N-no.”

“If you had the choice, would you walk on a different path?”

“Yes!”

And Zenyatta could feel the truth in his voice, in his feelings, so bare and open to his senses that there was no lie to be found, no deceit.

The man was scared, and weak, full of despair, and the curse had taken root within him, but he had known nothing of Talon’s intentions. He had seen death, and knew he was doomed himself.

Except…

“The Iris is magnanimous,” he murmured, tone shifting to something softer. “It does not abandon those who truly repent. Follow its guide, and you will never falter.”

With a flick of his wrist, Zenyatta opened the gate of the Harmony from within him, and it burst out of his body like a flood, golden light wrapping itself around the man’s body.

He choked, gasped and for a moment tried to back away from him, panic filling his mind, then froze when instead of the cold, painful death he had expected, he felt a soothing warmth.

Closing his eyes, his face shifted to a calm, awed expression, body growing slack.

“Embrace Tranquillity,” Zenyatta said, voice echoing, and the Iris washed over both of them. “And be reborn anew.”

When it retreated, the man’s body had regained its colour, though he still seemed to be pale and tired. Eyes fluttering open in shock, he looked down at his hands, a distressed noise leaving his mouth. “Wh– what happened?”

“The Iris paid for your price. You have earned a second chance.”

Zenyatta turned around, leaving the man sprawled on the ground, sobbing quietly into his hands, and felt a small jolt of embarrassment at the pure awe he saw in Genji’s eyes.

“It is as the Iris wills,” he found himself saying, attention back towards the real enemy. “I am simply its follower.”

Before them, Sanjay scoffed, expression shifting to something uncomfortably disgusted. “So much power, and rather than use it, you choose to show piety instead.”

“I do not wish to take from the Iris, only to accept what I am bestowed upon,” Zenyatta answered back. “The Iris is angry, and wishes for this fight to end.”

“I will end this fight,” Strix purred, and clenched his hand into a fist. “I do not fear confrontation, monk.”

“Perhaps you should,” Genji growled. He had not forgotten the sight of Zenyatta, crouched on the ground, shaking and in pain. Dragons did not forget, nor forgive. “You face a God.”

“We face a mortal who chooses not to use the power of God,” Strix spit back. “It would be better in our hands, to use to change the world.”

“Talon shall not prevail,” Zenyatta said, and two of his mala rose above the rest, omnic energy bleeding purple as they soaked in the Discord within Zenyatta.

“I am glad we did come prepared,” Sanjay muttered. He still looked wary, but not defeated, and then he grabbed from his inner pockets another amulet, shaped like a clay doll, and snapped it in his fingers.

The clay dug into his hand and he bled over the clay, and the ground around them shook as something started to emerge from the soil and grass.

Little figures –made of magic and clay– rose from underground, faceless dolls with long arms and legs, standing between the four.

Strix’s forehead array flared. “Unfortunately, I cannot use these to power my own attacks.” His optics flashed towards the last of the Talon soldiers, the spokesperson, and shook his head. He knew that he would not be able to reach that far with his powers. “I will just have to use _you_.” His optical receptors turned to Genji, who snorted.

“You’re free to try,” Genji bared his teeth. “Won’t happen.”

“Beware, Genji –if his oil touches you, it will attempt to take over control of your body.”

Zenyatta’s cautious words had Genji nod in understanding. “We’ll just have to make sure he stays away.”

“I will be by your side, Genji. Let us fight together.”

The blinding smile on Genji’s face made Zenyatta flash him a forehead array one in kind.

Genji dashed first, katana in his hands, and the group of clay figurines formed a line of attack as he slashed through them, slicing them in half –only for the clay to stick to his blade, while the figurines reformed as he moved past them.

“Zenyatta!” Genji did not halt his dash, aiming for Sanjay, and behind him Zenyatta sent an orb of Harmony to him, secured above his shoulder, providing him with warmth.

He prepared a volley of orbs, omnic energy bubbling to the surface, coated with Discord, and sent them flying.

As Genji slashed through the second line of figurines, Zenyatta’s power struck the one behind him, and they shattered –and then rebuild themselves once again.

“Useless!” Sanjay called out, tension fading a bit as he grew more secure with his line of defense, “it will never stop them!”

Genji and Zenyatta both glanced at him, calculating, even as they continued their joined assault of the figurines.

He was standing still, but his hand was still dripping blood on the broken clay amulet, and droplets were still falling on the ground.

Sanjay had used his blood to attack –a similar technique to the one Strix deployed, only rather than turn people into weapons, it turned the soil into one.

And unfortunately for them, they were surrounded with it –so they either had to cleanse the grounds completely, or attack Sanjay directly… and they knew the figurines would protect him regardless.

“Time for me to join the fight, then,” Strix purred.

“Genji!” Zenyatta called out urgently, and Genji tensed. “Do not worry about Sanjay. I will take care of him.”

He received a sharp nod, Genji not even turning around, and his body seemed to relax, trusting him.

Zenyatta stepped forwards, tucking his feet beneath himself, and started to float, coating his entire body with Discord –yet, unlike before, he felt no chill, the warmth of the Harmony pouring from his core countering it easily.

If simply smashing through the figurines was not enough, then he would need to obliterate them completely –down to the fragments that made them, and not let them fall on the ground to be rebuilt.

Before, he would not have been able to do it, but with the sheer power of the Iris cursing through his circuits, he knew he could, now.

“Come at me,” he murmured.

The figurines ran towards both him and Genji, but Zenyatta spun his orbs faster and moved into the battlefield, sending his orbs dashing into the air, so thick with Discord and omnic energy they vibrated but resisted the strain.

This time, he needed to use them, rather than just the energy they contained, so he only had a limited amount of hits.

One mala hit the first figurine that came at him, smashing through its head, hovering in the middle of the hole it had created –and then the energy exploded.

Discord wrapped itself around the figurine and started to eat the clay, blood and magic included, eroding it, disintegrating it inch by inch until there was nothing left –and the orb remained floating there, cleansed of energy and Discord… but the figurine was gone.

Sanjay’s smirk downturned. “You will not be able to do it fast enough, monk,” he gritted out.

“Hm… we shall see.”

A second figurine attacked him, and a third, and a fourth, and Zenyatta cycled through his orbs, refilling them with Discord and energy every time one figurine went down, slowly moving closer to Sanjay, attracting his focus enough that Genji found his path to Strix empty.

“Seems like I get to tear you apart,” Genji grinned, teeth sharp and just a little bit longer than a human’s would. “Hope you’re ready, _asshole_.”

“Amusing to see the Shambali have a dragon protecting them,” Strix did not seem phased. “How did they own you?”

Genji hissed, anger flaring up, and his eyes burned crimson. “I am owned by no one. And amusing you would not recognize me, when it was your group who came for my family, and slayed them.”

Strix hummed, shifting into defense. “_Oh._ You are a Shimada. I thought Akinjide had gotten all of you.”

“You thought wrong.” Genji raised his katana. “And I have come to take my revenge –for my family, for my brother… and for Zenyatta.”

“It will be my pleasure, then –to use you to make him submit. I will take joy to have your hand be the one that slashes at him.” Strix’s optical receptors flashed, and his forehead array burned brighter. “Perhaps, I will keep you alive long enough to watch as we destroy his resolve and make him _ours_.”

“Over my dead body!”

Genji rushed forwards, katana rising in the air, and he slashed down, blade flashing a deep green –and Strix moved to the side, countering the blade with the side of his arm, pushing the cutting side away and blocking his attack.

Cursing, Genji slid one foot lower, using the momentum to tilt his blade and continue the motion towards Strix’s feet, and Strix’s hand moved towards his face, fingers ready to wound him, tips slick with his own oil.

They both moved out of the way –Strix jumped, avoiding the blade to his legs, and Genji used his speed to arch backwards, back parallel with it for a moment before he rolled on the grass and jumped back to his feet.

“Avoidance will not help you survive long,” Strix told him, and Genji grinned at him, wide and feral.

“I could say the same to you.”

The katana flashed as Genji attacked him again, and Strix, despite being on the defense, did not seem to falter under the fierce strength of the dragon blade, deflecting attacks with skill while fighting back, slashing at the exposed parts of Genji’s body in an attempt to scratch him and use his powers on him.

Behind them, Zenyatta continued his meticulous attack on Sanjay’s figurine army.

For every figurine that attacked him, he had an orb ready, the overflowing energy of the Iris making him continue without feeling any fatigue.

Sanjay, forced back with every single loss, started to look less secure of himself –and the blood that continued to trickle down on the ground, together with the constant energy loss to maintain the army, was taking its toll.

“You should give up,” Zenyatta told him, tone even as he continued to advance, methodically eliminating Sanjay’s protections, “before you give more than you can.”

“Worry about yourself!” Sanjay did take another step back, and squinted at Zenyatta’s figure in front of him, magic coating his frame so tightly and swirling between golden and purple that Zenyatta was almost invisible behind it.

“I will survive,” Zenyatta said with certainty. “I cannot say the same about you.”

Still, Zenyatta knew he could not allow the battle to go on too long –and he worried for Genji.

He gathered Discord within himself once more, until he felt his servos hiss under the cold, even with the Harmony soothing it, and as he threw his mala one by one in rapid succession, catching the enemy figurines one after another, he formed a thick, explosive bubble within the last of his orbs, and shifted to the side –the figurines were all moving out of the way, allowing him to aim directly at Sanjay.

“Fuck–”

Sanjay lifted his wounded hand, clenching his fist around the broken amulet, and blood dripped down on the ground, and a new line of figurines sprung up, placing themselves between them.

“Checkmate,” Zenyatta murmured.

He sent the orb upwards, and it sailed above them, higher and higher, and Sanjay realised what was happening a fraction before the orb started to fall again.

“_Fuck_!” he stumbled backwards, bringing the wounded hand to his chest–

The orb exploded, and a thick mist of Discord fell over the grounds below, seeping into the figurines, slowing them down as they were corrupted from inside –and as Sanjay continued to back away to avoid being affected, he did not notice Zenyatta reload and send an orb of destruction right at him.

The orb hit his wrist with a snap.

Sanjay cursed and dropped the amulet fragments. They fell on the ground and the Discord chased them, covering them completely–

“No!”

The figurines stopped mid-motion, and crumbled to the ground, fading back into the soil that had made them.

“Useless!” Strix yelled at him as he stopped Genji’s katana by swirling out of the way.

“Fuck you!” Sanjay scrambled to get away as Zenyatta advanced on him, and this time when he plunged his trembling fingers inside his jacket, Sanjay retrieved a small translucent cube. “Fuck this operation, fuck Akinjide, fuck _you_! I’m not about to die like this, so deal with them yourself! I’m out!”

Zenyatta’s orb slammed against his hand and he dropped the cube, but as it touched ground, a sudden portal of light lit up in mid-air, and Sanjay’s expression melted into a sneer. “Vishkar will not forget,” he hissed.

“Especially not about your involvement with this against their orders,” Zenyatta said, and Sanjay flinched, expression furious, and jumped into the portal.

With a flash of light, he was gone –and the portal flickered out of view, the cube cracking and shattering on the ground.

Zenyatta relaxed a little; he had felt the conflicting feelings from Sanjay and his gamble had been right –Sanjay had joined Talon, probably on Vishkar’s behalf, but this mission, with little army, little support, and just three leaders acting together… it was suspicious. It was probable even Talon itself had not known of their attempts, and this was proof of it.

He turned to look at Strix, for a moment allowing himself to admire the way Genji fought, every movement perfect and sharp.

“He was a coward,” Strix grunted, avoiding once again Genji’s blade. “No surprise he left like that.”

“You are alone now,” Genji told him, a thrill within him at the thought that they might be done soon, “why don’t you run too?”

“I had plans,” Strix growled, and his forehead array burned a deeper, thicker red. “But you just had to interfere –and I will not stop until you _regret_ it.”

“Well, now, listen,” a sudden voice spoke from behind them, drawl casual and even, “when surrounded by the enemy, the sensible thing is to give up, y’know?”

“Else you just invite your enemies to feast on your dead body,” a second voice piped up. “We would not mind, of course. You did prove to be a hassle.”

Strix’s head snapped back, and even Genji faltered at the voices, stifling a surprised sound at the sight of Gabriel and Jesse standing behind Strix, at the edge of the bridge –and on the other side, glowing softly, a natural Pathway portal.

“‘lo, Genji, Zenyatta,” Jesse flashed them a grin with a little bit too many teeth. “Thought we could come n’ see if we could help, but you’ve got it in the bag, yes?”

Gabriel cracked his knuckles, the edges of his body fading from sight as they became black smoke. “Not against a little bit of entertainment. I have to say, the spider was not much of a workout.”

Strix’s optical receptors flashed from the newcomers to Zenyatta and Genji, now closer to him, restricting his movements, and he seemed to shrink a little, calculating his chances.

Genji was struck with the idea that had Strix been human, he would have been gritting his teeth at them in frustration.

“It does not have to end badly,” Zenyatta spoke up, and floated forwards, offering one hand at him. “Admit defeat, and no harm shall be done to you.”

“I would love to do that though,” Genji huffed in a low voice, and both Gabriel and Jesse snorted. “I do not agree,” he said louder, and Zenyatta’s head tilted his way. “You hurt my… Zenyatta. You were what caused the deaths of my entire family,” Zenyatta’s head snapped back, shock visible in the way his forehead array faltered, “You attempted to harness the power of a God to use against the world…”

“You stole my arm,” Jesse interjected, and wriggled the fingers of his metal prosthetic. “Found it in that crate with a whole lot of other shit, including Ana’s eye. Man, we’d tried tracking it down for two years from the dealer who stole it from the man who took it from her, but I can’t believe you’ve had it since then.”

Startled by the new information, Genji’s glare darkened further.

Zenyatta seemed to hesitate, bringing his fingers together in front of his faceplate. The thick halo of Discord that was surrounding him, which had faded at Sanjay’s retreat, slowly thickened again around his core.

“I do not condone the slaying of someone who is trapped and surrounded,” he finally said, and something in his voice seemed to echo, “but I cannot step in front of one’s just punishment. Yet, if you slay him here…” Zenyatta exhaled an artificial breath, and Genji’s heart ached, hoping he would not speak against it, for Genji truly did not wish to hurt Zenyatta, but his blood ached to take his revenge. “If you slay him here,” Zenyatta repeated, this time with a little more strength, “we will be unable to use his capture to expose Talon’s actions to the world.”

And that –Genji could understand.

Talon was a threat –not just the three who had acted on their own to capture a god, but all of the organization was. It had aims they knew nothing about, past garnering the Shambali’s aid and already having Vishkar backing them up, and while they might have stopped this plan, it did not mean they’d prevented the entire organization from continuing on their path.

So far, Talon had acted undercover, hiding and using this to further their agenda, but if Zenyatta and Genji spread the news, if they brought Strix out in the open…

They could start a revolution that could bring Talon to its untimely defeat.

Prevent others from going through what he had.

“Alright,” he hissed, and even though his blood was boiling and his instincts were screaming at him, Genji took a step back. “You are right, Zenyatta. We cannot kill him.”

Zenyatta turned to stare at him, and though Genji could not read the expressionless faceplate, he still felt a wave of warmth coming from him, and he thought Zenyatta looked… positively proud of him.

Genji’s cheeks reddened a bit, trying not to be obvious about how the idea pleased him.

He knew that before –before losing his memories, before becoming Genji the Nomad, before meeting Zenyatta, he would have acted without thinking, killing Strix with little care, but… things were different now, and Genji had learned patience.

“You say this, as if I have any intention to be captured.”

Strix’s voice had Genji turn his focus to him, teeth bared in a snarl.

“We’re not letting you get away, so you don’t have much choice here,” Jesse drawled, and lifted his hand, gun pointed at Strix’s head. “Be quiet, and we won’t roughen you up _too much_.”

“Fuck you, little werewolf.”

Strix stood up, straightening his back –and despite being cornered, he looked taller than all of them, imposing and not looking defeated at all. He rose one hand forwards, and they all stiffened.

“I still have a last ace,” Strix said –and just like that, his arm turned rusty from the fingertips up to his elbow, disintegrating into thin air as Strix’s power corroded his own metal, and he moved forwards sharply, his other arm thrusting out towards Genji. “Go down in front of me, dragon shifter!”

“Genji!” Zenyatta started, floating closer, hands vibrating with Harmony–

The sound of a blade hitting metal had Zenyatta stutter, pain flooding his sensors.

Strix had attacked from behind, his spike flying at him from the ground, but rather than impale him in the back, as it had tried to, Zenyatta moving had misaligned the blade, and it had sliced through his shoulder instead.

One of Zenyatta’s arms fell on the ground, oil trickling from the severed wires and down his side as he clutched at his shoulder, gasping in pain as the oil burned its way through his body.

His orbs, the connection disrupted, dropped down like stones.

“Zenyatta!” Genji turned around, eyes wide in panic –and as he looked away, Strix flexed and crouched and then leaped into the air.

“Fuck–” Jesse aimed at him, shooting twice, but Strix flew past him, avoiding both projectiles. Gabriel’s entire body turned to smoke and he took chase, eyes glowing crimson, as Genji watched Zenyatta wobble in mid-air and fall on the grass.

“_Shit_!”

He crouched at his side, fingers fumbling to press down on the wire and stem the oil loss, and his eyes followed Strix’s jump as he landed near the edge of the chasm, where the bridge was.

“You won’t run away!” he yelled, even as he cradled Zenyatta into his arms.

“Try and stop me, dragon shifter,” Strix taunted.

Gabriel reached for him, hand reforming from the shadows into a claw, but Strix moved faster.

Instead of running on the bridge, he did something unexpected –with a small, taunting wave, he fell backwards, down into the chasm that had already taken Akinjide, and disappeared off the edge.

“Fucking hell no you don’t!” Jesse ran towards the edge, even as Gabriel peeked from it, looking down, but Strix’s figure was falling fast, and dropped like a stone into the river far below, disappearing from view. “Shit, that _fucker_–”

Genji’s attention had returned to Zenyatta the moment Strix disappeared, the dragon inside him roaring in rage and distress at his mate’s state.

“Zenyatta, I’m sorry, we left him go–”

“It is… quite alright, Genji.” Zenyatta’s synth wavered a bit as he hissed, forehead pressed into the crook of Genji’s neck. “We will come to face him again.”

Despite the situation, Genji snorted, the sound dry and worried. “Are you an Oracle now?”

“He has tasted defeat. He will be back.” With a soft sigh, Zenyatta relaxed into the hold.

The oil flow had lessened, helped by Genji’s hand clamped onto his wires, his fingers wet and slippery but holding on tightly, and though he felt lightheaded at the loss and at the sudden fatigue he felt deep in his servos, Zenyatta felt secure there, in Genji’s arms.

“You are hurt.” Genji’s voice was full of pain and guilt, and Zenyatta gently moved his remaining hand to caress his cheek. “I’m sorry, Zenyatta–”

“Not your fault, my darling.” Zenyatta tugged Genji down, just a bit, and tilted his head up so they could be face to face, close enough Zenyatta’s metal fogged with Genji’s hot breath. “We won, and this can be easily fixed. It hurts, but pain is temporary. As long as I have you, I will be alright.”

Choking on a wet laugh, Genji did not think, and leaned forwards to press his lips against the seam of Zenyatta’s mouthpiece.

Zenyatta jolted in his arms, startled, but before Genji could back down, eyes wide in shock at his action, Zenyatta’s hand on his cheek stopped him, holding him close as a flicker of omnic energy licked at his lips, and Zenyatta kissed him back.

“I might have wished to do this for a while,” Zenyatta murmured, sounding more affected by the kiss than he was at the loss of his arm.

Laughing against his mouthpiece, Genji kissed him again, a soft press of his lips, then he moved away, only to kiss him again. “So have I,” he breathed back, coils of happiness spreading from his heart to every inch of his body, the dragon within him purring. “Many times I considered spending hours kissing you, yet I thought you might grow tired of it, if I tried.”

“You may do it as many times as you wish, Genji,” Zenyatta chuckled, and patted his cheek gently. “I would never get tired of it.”

Opening his mouth to say something, Genji licked his lips and blinked, realising he still had his hand holding the wires of Zenyatta’s shoulder close, and shook his head. “We need to get your arm fixed, Zenyatta,” he said instead, almost sheepish for forgetting. “Later, maybe you will allow me to kiss you again.”

“If you need a place, we will be gladly open our doors to you, dragon shifter.”

Genji’s head snapped up, adrenaline making him almost jolt, but the way Zenyatta gasped in his arms, twisting around, had him splutter, trying not to lose his grip on the wires, oil trickling all over his fingers.

“Brother…?”

And then Genji did look up, and his eyes fell on a tall omnic dressed in a creamy long vest, chassis pale and a forehead array of nine points forming a diamond gently glowing teal –the same colour as Zenyatta’s.

“You are back, Zenyatta,” Mondatta murmured, voice soft and warm. “We have missed you so.”

Looking behind Mondatta, Genji’s eyes fell on the monastery, and he stared in surprise at the flags swaying gently in the wind.

“The monastery–” he knew he was babbling, but Genji did not care. “The Iris unravelled its magic!”

“Indeed, dragon shifter. Just in time to witness the last of your battle.” Mondatta’s tone shifted a bit, turning to steel. “The Null Sector omnic might be gone, but my brother is right –you have made of him a vicious enemy, and he will come back… but we will not be unprepared. For now, though…” and again, his tone softened, “you are welcome to take sanctuary with us. The Shambali owe you a great deal.”

Genji found himself shaking his head slowly, even as Mondatta knelt in front of him, pressing his forehead against Zenyatta’s, optical receptors dull for a moment.

“It just happened my goals and Zenyatta’s coincided,” he murmured, and Mondatta chuckled, his laugh so similar to Zenyatta’s it made his heart ache.

“Your heart says the opposite, dragon shifter. And Zenyatta seems to think the same.”

Zenyatta chirruped, a small sound that Genji instantly cherished, before he nuzzled his face against Mondatta’s. “I am glad to be back, brother.”

“Well then,” Mondatta helped Genji stand up, Zenyatta between them, and Jesse hurried over to grab his arm from the ground. “Follow me, please. You all deserve rest –and I would love to know more about what happened.”

Gabriel cast one last, scathing glance at the chasm and frowned before joining the others, looking pissed off enough that Jesse patted his shoulder. “We’ll have a chance to get his ass,” he assured him, a cheeky grin on his lips. “You just wait.”

With a snort, Gabriel nodded. “Might as well.”

Left behind, trembling and shaking, the spokesperson bowed, and joined them, speechless, and as they passed through the entrance arch of the Shambali monastery, the gentle warmth of the Iris welcomed them in, a sudden spark of light in the air that faded away in a blink.


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this, the fanfic is done. It was such a huge project that grew basically on its own, but I had so much fun writing it, and i feel really satisfied. if i made happy even one single person who read it, then i am content. Thank you, all those who read this, those who left kudos and those who left comments (these last ones, i appreciate the most :P)!
> 
> Also, another special thank you to the artists that I was paired up with for this effort, and a special mention to everybody else who participated in the bigbang! (I still have to go read a couple myself hhh)

**Epilogue**

The room was mostly bare, but it was warm and welcoming, and the bed under her soft.

Yet, Widowmaker did not take notice of it, glazed over eyes staring at the empty wall in front of her.

She breathed slowly, evenly, but if she allowed her thoughts to stray, they seemed to return to the golden glaze that covered everything, and she was fascinated by it.

There had been little fight left in her when the shadow man and his werewolf companion had made quick work of Talon’s little army, and with no more orders to obey, Widowmaker had allowed them to restrain her, biding her time, waiting for a chance to escape and return to her masters.

The battle might have been lost, but Talon was still strong.

Widowmaker was aware that the rest of the army had been rounded up, and she knew they had to stay back in the Pathway, waiting for something, but she didn’t care. She left them behind, trailing after the shadow man and the werewolf, and that was that.

Rather than imprison her in some cold cell, like she had expected –Talon employed rather cold methods to hold captives– she had been led to a bare room, with only a small seal to prevent her to escape from the window.

She was fed, and after that, a day had passed where no one had returned, and she had waited, quietly, until the shadows of the room had turned to night, and then back to the first light of the day.

Time did not really matter to her –she barely felt it, usually, but there was something different to time within this monastery, and it made the emptiness inside of her ache for something to fill it.

It was uncomfortable, but she’d had worse.

And then, there was a soft knock to her door, which she ignored at first –only to turn that way, distressed, when the knocking returned, insistent and louder, disrupting her vague thoughts.

“Who is it?” she called out sharply.

“May I enter?” it was a female voice, old but crispy.

Widowmaker snorted. “Do as you please. This is not my place.”

“Yet, the room is yours. I thought I should ask for permission, first.”

Slow, even breaths. “Do what you want.”

The door opened, and a woman –old, as her voice had suggested– moved inside. She wore an eyepatch on one eye, the hair underneath her shayla silvery grey, holding what seemed to be an object wrapped in chains, and there was… _power_ inside her, that Widowmaker could see.

That startled her enough that she blinked, slowly, confused.

She had never been able to _see_ magic, not like that… it must be the place, then. There was magic floating around, and it permeated every inch of the building, from the stones to the wood. It was possible she’d affected her, as well.

“I have something of yours,” the woman said, and Widowmaker’s attention moved back to her, slowly.

“If you wish to return my rifle to me, know that I will use it on you first,” Widowmaker replied, her tone emotionless.

The woman scoffed. “It is not that, but something of far more importance that was stolen from you. Actually, we had no idea it was yours –but it reacted when we did a scrying. You are the owner, and what was done to you is disgusting. Master Mondatta said he wishes you to have your choices back.”

Master Mondatta –the head monk. Widowmaker’s eyes narrowed a bit, looking down at the object the woman was holding.

“Mine,” by her tone, one would not be able to tell if she was curious or not. “I do not _own_ things.”

“This, you do.” There was something soft in the woman’s tone, and she tapped one finger to her eye. “Trust me, I’m an Oracle.”

Slowly, Widowmaker tugged on the chains, searching for a way to unlock them –and they unravelled at her touch, dropping down on her lap. Within was a cocoon, the silvery white threads silk, and the golden ones dryad hair.

For a moment, she stared at it, then slowly dragged a nail down the side, and the threads snapped.

In her hands, the object inside the cocoon _thumped_ –like a heartbeat, once, and then again.

Widowmaker’s chest ached, so desperately she gasped –and there was pain, so deep within her that it made her shake, hands clutching the object in her hands as it thumped again, then once more, slowly, ever so slowly.

She tugged at the silk and hair with quick pulls, unravelling the rest of it and–

In her hands was a heart. It looked almost shrivelled, thin, and covered by a layer of webs, and every time it thumped, little contractions making it move in her hold, the inside of Widowmaker’s chest throbbed in pain.

Widowmaker stared at it for so long it felt like eons had passed, or just seconds, as her fingers tingled with warmth where they were holding it. She _recognised_ it.

Something wet ran down her cheeks, and she wiped it out with her palm, absently, before realising those were tears.

“This was stolen from you,” the woman murmured, her tone so soft it made Widowmaker feel a sudden jolt of anger, misplaced as it was. “Take it back.”

Widowmaker did not know how –but her body _did_. Slowly, as if acting by themselves, her hands brought the heart up to her lips and she parted them, wide, eyes staring at the trembling, beating heart as she swallowed it down.

Warmth filled her as she felt it slide down inside her, burning, settling back inside her after so long–

Slowly, ever so slowly, Widowmaker’s skin started to lose its blue tinge.

With every beat of the heart inside her, warmth spread, and it felt like winter was finally gone from her limbs, fingers twitching as sensation she’d since lost returned, and colours bloomed in her vision, and, and–

And so many memories.

Her mother and father, spinning her in the air, the delicacy her darling Gerard had brought her during their courting, juicy animals he’d caught himself, consumed together in the woods, and the delicate work of her silk as she’d danced around to spin her web, footsteps light, happiness in her heart.

They came to her one by one, sending shivers down her back, mismatched, in no order, overwhelming her with their bittersweet taste.

Slowly, Widowmaker brought her hands to her face, covered her eyes, and wept.

For a while, all she could do was cry, a hand on her shoulder to show support.

It was only when she looked up, expression broken, that the woman finally asked her, “What is your name, little spider?” wearing a soft, pained smile.

“I… I don’t–” memories came to her in batches, but it was still so far, right out of her grasp, even if she remembered Gerard…

The woman hummed, then spoke, more fiercely than before, “listen to the beat of your heart, my dear. _What_ is your name?”

And Widowmaker did listen, she let the lull of her heart warm her, the sound familiar, her mind slowly filling with thoughts, and emotions, things she’d forgotten, things she was learning again, the pressure so heavy that even more tears rolled down her cheeks and she sobbed, overwhelmed, and through that, she searched, every single one of her memories, for a voice that would lead her home, to her name, to–

“Amelie,” she gasped out, eyes wide, fingers digging into the sides of her head. Desperately, the repeated “Amelie!”

“Then welcome back, Amelie,” the woman murmured. “I am Ana. Allow me to help you find your way back home.”

Trembling, wiping the tears that would not stop falling, Widowmaker, Amelie, raised her head towards her, and for the first time in so many years, she begged. “Please.”

***

The river’s course was erratic, and fast.

The water flowed quickly through barren grounds, its bed full of dangerous rocks and at times so deep it threatened to drown him, while in others, it was so shallow he risked hitting his head on every rock –but even in such danger, Akinjide was made of different stock.

Gasping and fighting against the current, using his prosthetic doomfist to protect himself, Akinjide had managed to survive first the drop from the edge of the bridge, and then the long, dangerous swim, allowing the water of the river to drag his battered body far enough from the monastery area to be relatively safe.

Slowly, as he fought against the current, Akinjide’s mind cleared from the Discord, its last remnants washed away by the cleansing waters, and in place of doubt, fury festered.

How dared that omnic think he could best him –how dared he make Akinjide doubt himself, and his allies, and his _power…_

Washed ashore after many hours in the river, gasping and spitting blood and water from his mouth and nose, Akinjide rested for what felt like forever by the side of the river, chest heaving, fury so thick it took over his senses completely.

He would go back –take with him a bigger army, strengthen himself, and make sure that little omnic learned what it meant to be truly scared before Akinjide cut off every single wire in his body and left him to die slowly, painfully…

“How demeaning.”

The voice took him by surprise, alerting Akinjide at once that he had allowed someone too close without his senses noticing, and his head snapped up, a snarl clear on his face.

There was… a creature, standing near him, tall and proud, her frame thin, her skin washed out and grey, except for the dark holes that were her eyes, an otherworldly glow coming from within; her hair was white, but it seemed to move unnaturally, swaying in the air as if deep underwater, and her clothes… they were ripped at the edges, frayed, just as washed out as the rest of her. There were dark, metallic chains wrapped around her ankles, and her wrists, and her hips, but she did not appear to be weighted down at all as she observed him from above, expression twisted to what appeared to be… disappointment.

“Who are you,” he hissed, rage still burning within him.

He would slay this creature, this banshee, and make sure no one could see him this _low_.

“No one of importance, of course.” The Banshee’s lip curled up in disgust. “Just as you are. What pathetic appearance –and here I thought Talon was supposed to be… imposing.”

Akinjide stood, not proud to feel his legs shake under his weight, drenched and cold but still boiling with fury. “What do _you_ know of Talon?”

“I know what I need to.” She crossed her arms behind her back, unnaturally calm, and slowly started to pace in front of him, managing to look disparagingly at him all the while. “I know you have soiled the name of Talon, for example –acting on your own without support, seeking glory for yourself. Unbelievable. Foolish.” She paused, humming. “_Dangerous_.”

Baring his teeth at her in a flash, Akinjide tightened doomfist. He was tired, and he did not feel in his prime, but even like this he could easily take this banshee on, make her pay for her words…

“Moira is right, you know. Master.”

Another figure slowly appeared from behind the banshee, one Akinjide knew far better. His student, his promising, faithful student, Akande –still young, his expression always settled on a frown.

Akinjide had trained him since he’d come to him in shambles, arm broken beyond repair, bested through deceit in one of his fighting matches.

Banned from them because of his new prosthetic, Akande had been left with no aim, no goals, except anger, and Akinjide had made it fester, pointed it at the right targets, taught him how to raise above it all.

That frown was gone now, and Akande’s expression was carefully neutral as he stood there, right by the banshee… Moira’s side.

“Akande!” Akinjide’s expression shifted minutely, glad to see him, until his words penetrated through his mind, and he frowned. “What are you doing here.”

“Talon has been… interested in your recent travel trips, master.” Akande kept his voice even, quiet, his face giving away nothing. “The leaders… they asked me to investigate for them. To know what you were doing, taking resources from Talon without sharing your aims.”

“I was seeking–”

“Glory for yourself, master. You wished to go against Talon for yourself only. Ingenious, to cover your actions with travels for business, but… you made mistakes. You slipped up. You stole from them, and they _noticed_. It is not what you taught me. And worst of all… you were defeated so quickly, so _easily_.”

“You should not be so cruel to your master, little one,” Moira purred, her thin purple lips shifting upwards in a cruel smile. “He might be pathetic, but he was his own undoing. That is cruel enough by itself.”

“That man taught me everything I know –but even that has come to an end. There hasn’t been much you have taught me lately, and nothing I have not… picked up elsewhere.” Akande’s eyes darkened, sharp, intense. “I make my own allies, now. Not through you anymore… master.”

“Indeed,” Moira seemed rather proud at that, and her eyes glowed fiercely. “It was through me that your dear little student found you, doomfist holder. I have my special brand of magic, though not as… enticing as what the Witch could offer.” Her smile grew softer for a moment, but a blink and the softness was gone again.

For the first time since his appearance, Akande’s expression shifted to something else –amusement. “It is amusing how people will work with you, if rather than force them to serve, you offer them a chance to grow by your side, master. You should try that, sometimes. Or… perhaps…” Akande’s eyes narrowed, his lips thinning, “perhaps it is too late now.”

Akinjide felt a lick of growing dread within him, but he pushed it down, refusing to give in to the same feeling that had made him weak with the omnic.

This was his little student, his perfect pawn and he would not be scared of–

Akande moved so fast Akinjide’s eyes could not follow.

Tired as he was, weakened by his fight, by the long extenuating rush of the river and exhausted by his mental battle against Discord, his senses had dulled… while Akande, alone with his own company, had thrived.

The first punch threw Akinjide back so hard his teeth rattled –and then Akande was on him again, quick and lethal, spinning around to hit him with his leg, and then again with his fist, and something snapped inside Akinjide’s chest at the strength behind the hit, augmentations Akande had made without his permission, without his _knowledge_–

“The doomfist does not belong with you anymore, master,” Akande dropped him on the ground, and Akinjide, wheezing tried to stand up, only to see nanomachines return dormant, showing the prosthetic hand underneath, encased in the small glove that contained the doomfist. “It knows you have been bested. It knows you have shamed it. It wants to go with the winner… and that winner is not you, _master_.”

“_Akande_–!”

Afterwards, Akande slid the case over his prosthetic fist, watching as the nanomachines buzzed around the metal, settling on it and purring, and the hum of power he felt made his heart race.

“It is done,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“That was impressive, young master,” Moira sounded rather satisfied of herself. “And fast. He must have been truly tired, after what happened.”

“I still do not know what went on,” Akande was displeased by the lack of knowledge, but the rush of the nanomachines interacting with his prosthetic was distracting. He tapped with his human knuckles over his other fist, and the nanomachines purred again. “What could have bested my master in such a way?”

“A god,” Moira answered, so simply it made Akande jolt. “Or rather, his own actions, that cause the ire of a God. That much, even I can say.”

“A god, huh?” Akande squinted into the distance, where he knew the monastery of the Shambali was, frozen in time. Or perhaps… “And I am sure, whatever vessel the God chose did not allow such feat to go unpunished.”

“Indeed. My darling was rather displeased at your master’s actions. He worked actively to harm her, and it is why I chose to side with you. Of course, this puts us on opposing sides now, but my darling doesn’t have to know what might hurt her –especially if she’s not _hurt_.”

The dangerous tilt of her voice was not lost to Akande, who turned to look at Moira.

“Our stipulation will not fall through. No harm will come to the Witch, not by my hand, nor by the hand of any of my allies, and that includes Talon. If one of Talon attempts to break this treaty, they will be quickly dealt with, or you will have the pleasure.”

With a pleased hum, Moira nodded, and the glow of her eyes shifted to something less dreadful.

“As long as you keep your world, young master Akande.”

And though she sounded mocking, Akande knew she would not betray his side, either.

Things were good.

***

Genji woke up slowly, blinking owlishly at the sun peeking through closed binds, right on his eyes, and hissed, shifting his head to the side.

He was still tired –he did not think one could get so tired, but his body was thrumming, displeased at the new power cursing through his veins, and it would take a while for him to settle with it and feel comfortable again.

Being in his dragon skin helped –it was dragon blood, and the magic met his own to be absorbed more easily in this form, and it also allowed him to wrap around Zenyatta like a blanket, protecting him from everything.

Not that Zenyatta truly needed it –he had held his own against Talon for a long while, all alone, and Genji felt a mix of humble pride and satisfaction at the thought that his mate was this strong.

A rumble left his throat as he looked down, in the middle of his spires, and saw Zenyatta resting in his meditation pose, forehead array gently humming as he recharged, and slid his head closer, so he could nuzzle against him.

He was wearing his original appearance again, now that Talon was gone, and Genji felt contentment rumble in his chest –of all the appearances he’d showed him so far, it was still his favourite.

Then, his thoughts turned again to their situation. He knew that Zenyatta was just as unsettled as he was –Talon’s ritual had been halted hallway through, and the open ‘hole’ within Zenyatta had pushed so much of the Iris power to curse through his circuits that he had been forced to adapt, his body almost failing under so much weight.

The wound on his shoulder had been sealed shut, arm placed back where it belonged while he slept, but then, Mondatta and the other monks had made an unfortunate discovery while scanning Zenyatta’s body for more damage –the Iris had started melting his inner circuits, and despite Harmony working to fight Discord’s effect, the push and pull of both forces inside him had been devastating.

With Genji watching, helplessly, from afar, Mondatta had opened Zenyatta’s chassis, revealing a mess of half frozen, half melted wires and pistons and circuits, and started to replace and fix them one by one, until Zenyatta was whole again.

Now, safe within the walls of the monastery where nothing could get him, Zenyatta rested, with Genji wrapped around him.

Grumbling to himself, he tightened his hold, closing his eyes and trying to sleep again.

“My dear, you know you do not need to spend so much time by my side, right?” Zenyatta’s soft, amused voice had Genji open his eyes again. “I am sure my brother would be delighted to offer you a tour of the monastery, or perhaps Jesse would like to spar–”

“But I want to stay with you,” Genji growled, displeased and huffy at the prospect of having to leave. “You are comfortable.”

Zenyatta’s laugh sent a wave of happy butterflies in Genji’s chest, and he purred, body rumbling. “You are comfortable too, Genji. Also _really_ warm.”

Shifting a little to allow Zenyatta’s vents to cool him down, Genji coughed sheepishly. “Sorry. I just. I do not wish to leave your side. A tour can wait for when you can lead me around, Zenyatta.”

“How sweet,” Zenyatta chirped, and nuzzled into his side with so much open affection Genji felt weak. “We do have time –it would be better to stay and recover fully, before leaving.”

“You… plan on leaving?” surprised, Genji tilted his head to look at him. “I thought you would wish to stay for a while, now?”

“I need to reach out to my contacts, and start a new network to help with tracking Talon down. Having the upper hand will help us greatly against someone who has worked in secret for years.”

“Ugh.” Genji let out a loud huff, and nosed into Zenyatta’s side. “At least it looks like Jesse and Gabriel are eager to stick around.”

“Indeed. And with an Oracle by our side, I think it will help us a lot –even with just one eye, rather than two. I do feel bad, though. Oracle Ana seemed content with the idea of spending the rest of her days at the beach…” a small laugh shook Zenyatta’s shoulders again as she thought about Ana’s disgruntled, accepting face. “I am grateful they have come back to us.”

“Yeah.” Genji nuzzled closer again, then flinched when Zenyatta’s vents gushed a small cloud of steam, moving away again with a whine.

“If you want to hold me, you can do that in your human skin, Genji. It would be preferred, for you do not have lips to kiss when you are a dragon.”

“But I am bigger, and I like holding you close.”

“But do you not like kisses?”

“I… I do love the kisses the most.”

Zenyatta laughed again, and Genji felt satisfied at the sound, proud to be the cause for it.

“I will not insult you by telling you that if you wish, you could leave, Genji.” Zenyatta’s tone shifted again, now serious, and Genji winced at his words, but allowed him to continue. “I know you would find the notion distasteful –Talon is our enemy, and we have both been compromised. We humiliated Talon leaders enough that their retaliation will be personal, and to be separated now would mean to be conquered.”

Genji hissed, baring his fangs.

“I would not let anything happen to the monastery or you, Zenyatta. _Never_.”

“The same can be said for you, my dear. My core aches when you are not around, and all I wish is to see your happiness, and it would be hard, to watch you go now that I could learn so much more about you.” Genji whined deep in his throat, Zenyatta’s honest words filling him with so much warmth he felt he would die. “I cannot bear to send you away, if you wish to stay.”

“I do!” lifting his head a little, Genji met Zenyatta’s optical receptors, and rubbed the tip of his snout against his faceplate. “I do not wish for us to part, I wish to be able to court you properly!”

Then, his words caught up with his mind and he stiffened –and much to Zenyatta’s amusement, Genji flopped his head to the side, attempting to hide from him.

“Oh, Genji–”

“Forgive me, that was… abrupt.”

“It was most definitely not. I would love to be courted by you, Genji. There is no one in this land who owns my core other than you. If I am allowed to have your heart, I would ask for nothing more.”

Whining again, Genji changed, his human skin taking place of his dragon one, and gently slid his arms around Zenyatta’s waist, tugging him close and rolling them around on the mattress, Zenyatta pressed underneath him.

“My heart belongs to no one else, either. I am yours, now and forever.”

Stuttering at the sudden declaration, Zenyatta reached up, cupping Genji’s flushed cheek with his hand. “What precious gift I have been offered,” he murmured, tugging him down abruptly to press his mouthpiece into Genji’s awaiting lips. “And I even got you to change forms, now.”

Genji snorted, but then Zenyatta kissed him and all thoughts scattered, unimportant in the face of Zenyatta’s omnic energy burning his lips and making him want more.

“Well then,” he hummed, pressing kiss after kiss on Zenyatta’s mouthpiece, “I might have been tricked, but I will not go down without a fight.”

And perhaps there was more for them to do, and people to contact, and foes to confront, and Genji still wished to find his brother… but that could wait just a little bit longer.

The monastery was free, the Iris had been protected, they were both alive, with new allies. Talon’s remaining soldiers, free from the payment that had been forced on them, were alive, and some of them, like the spokesperson, had decided to stay with the Shambali. Jesse, Ana and Gabriel had no plans to leave, Zenyatta had his mala again and Genji had his memories back.

And they also had one another.

That was all they needed, at least for now.


End file.
